


walk on the ocean

by Awriterwrites



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Bottom Louis, Hand Jobs, Louis has daddy issues, M/M, Minor Character Death, Singer Harry, Smut, Surfer!Louis, Top Harry, a wee bit of angst, am i right?, because who doesn't love some ocean metaphors, but not THOSE kind of daddy issues, issues with his father, the ocean plays a prominent role
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-06
Updated: 2016-09-06
Packaged: 2018-08-13 08:13:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 26,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7969168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Awriterwrites/pseuds/Awriterwrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The boy smirked. “So we’re really playing it this way, huh?”</p><p>Louis didn’t miss a beat. “We can play it anyway you want darling.” He dragged a finger along the soft inside of the man’s inner arm, earning a shudder as his nail scraped lightly against the sensitive skin there. He liked that he made him do that, wanted to do it again. </p><p>The other man stared down at Louis and searched his eyes. “Yeah. Ok,” he finally said, grinning widely. “My name is Harry.”</p><p>****<br/>Harry is an on the rise rock star.  Louis is as far from the music scene as a famous producer's son can get.  They meet and everything changes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [iwillpaintasongforlou](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwillpaintasongforlou/gifts).



> Based on this prompt: Harry's a rising star who meets the most handsome man he's ever seen at a ball for the record company, and thinks he's going to be caught up in a Cinderella situation when the man leaves without telling Harry his name. When Louis is finally tracked down, turns out he's the son of a music mogul who isn't at all impressed by the glitz and glamour of Harry's lifestyle and who may just be the one person in the world who isn't in love with him.
> 
> A few notes:  
> @iwillpaintasongforlou I hope I did your prompt justice. I loved all of them! If I had time I would have written for each of them. Maybe I still will!? But I hope you like it.
> 
> I am not from California and have very limited knowledge. Bear with any inconsistencies or inaccuracies--its all for the creative good, yeah?
> 
> I have an amazing beta, who I will credit later. But without her diligence this fic would be all over the place and not as good as it turned out (at the risk of sounding conceited). Thank you my friend. You know what I was going through while writing this and, as cathartic as it was, I needed a few pushes. I'm grateful to you for that.
> 
> I have included some amazing art from @twopoppies. As always, she has captured exactly what the words are meaning to convey. Incredible. And such a wonder to work with. 
> 
> Lastly, if you liked this, please leave a comment. Nothing makes a writer happier than hearing what people think of their work. Coincidentally, it also makes them want to write more...so...
> 
> Title from the song "Walk on the Ocean" by Toad the Wet Sprocket  
> We spotted the ocean at the head of the trail  
> Where are we going, so far away  
> And somebody told me that this is the place  
> Where everything's better, everything's safe

**Chapter One**

The undeniable scent of salt and kelp drifted through the screen like warm baking bread. A dry California breeze carried with it the sound of the waves crashing on the shore below, across the two lane highway and down the stout bluff. New morning sun sparkled on the water like tears across fine linen.

“Fuck,” Louis cursed, struggling to open the wonky window of the surf shop. It creaked loudly, the protest ringing out in the otherwise quiet morning. He slammed the wooden frame up into its casing and then grabbed the splintered scrap of leftover balsam to wedge under the lower piece, effectively keeping it in place.

Mid-summer along the central coast of California’s sprawling oceanfront brought two things: warm, dry weather and the infuriating need to open the front windows of Pearl’s Surf.

Louis wiped sweat from his brow, and went about opening the rest of the little shop’s windows. Pearl’s may have been small, practically miniscule compared to the southern California surf shops, but it was tidy, attractive and home. To Louis.

Louis inhaled the sweet smell of wax and varnish, layered with his paints and the strong scent of neoprene. His latest board was propped up against the display next to the register, the sworls of green and blue paint hypnotic against the whitewashed balsam. Louis inhaled deeply and felt a satisfying tug in his chest. He was proud of what he’d accomplished here, in his little corner of the world.

Five years ago, when Louis had decided he needed to get away from it all — his father, the only home he’d ever known in Beverly Hills, the entire scene that was his life — he’d taken his inheritance and fled. Fled to this rustic little slice of heaven off of Highway One in Central California. He was surrounded by bluffs, scenic ocean and redwoods. And silence.

Louis wasn’t exactly happy. But he was far far away from who he used to be. Or, rather, who his father expected him to be.

Now he was just a disappointment.

Sighing, Louis pushed his stubborn hair off of his forehead and walked around behind the desk that doubled as a cash register. Not that he needed it, most of his business was repeat business done over the internet or phone. He rarely had walk-in customers on this isolated stretch of road and if he did, they were usually people he’d already done work for previously, his “groupies” as Niall called them.

Niall.

Louis flopped into the big upholstered chair that served as the only furnishing in the entire shop. No need for more seating. It was just him here every day. He pulled out his phone from the back pocket of his swim trunks and texted Niall, his best friend who owned the bar/restaurant/boarding house/bait shop/sometimes psychic reading establishment up the street.

_Louis: Need a box_

_Niall: For a board?_

_Louis: Yeah...that one going to Nova Scotia_

_Niall: Be down in a bit_

_Louis: Thanks Ni_

Louis dropped his phone on the small pile of orders on his desk and stared out the windows. Along the horizon he could see the deep blue of the sea melt into the pale blue of the cloudless sky. The dried brush of the bluff across the seldom traveled road painted the horizon in shades of green and yellow, late July but the summer seemed to be  fading already.

Soon it would be fall. Then winter. Then spring. The seasons marched on while Louis stayed still. Still and immobile. Inertia like a lover clinging to his neck, his bones, his very soul. He stayed put. Never moving. Far from the past but no where near the future.

****

“And why did you think this would help?”

Niall wiped his mouth. “Whiskey always helps.”

Louis grinned at his friend, the blonde’s dyed hair sticking up all over his head, his bright blue eyes bloodshot and bleary. “You always say that.”

“Because it’s always true.” Niall handed the bottle across the small space between their two adirondack chairs.

The amber liquid burned going down after the first and second swigs, but now, on the fifth or seventh—who could really remember—all Louis could taste was pleasant, bitter fire on his tongue, dancing like crimson flames inside his mouth, making their way down into his chest and tummy below. He was starting to think Niall was right.

They had packaged up the board, Niall promising it to ship it tomorrow when his courier came with the latest batch of local IPA. Then, they had talked bullshit about the weather, that odd Scandinavian bunch of tourists that had come through last week and finally, the subject of the Annual Pearl Paulson Charity Ball.

“You skipped last year, Lou.”

“I had a good reason.”

“A rush order wasn’t really a good reason.”

“It was!” Louis insisted, his voice rising to be heard over the high tide.

Niall dropped his head to the back of the chair, rolling his head to the side to survey his friend. “One board, that you had finished, by the way, that needed to be shipped by Christmas was not a rush order, my friend.”

Louis started to protest but was distracted by the sound of a seal squawking in the little sea kelp forest below. He turned back to continue arguing with his friend but when his eyes met Niall’s, he could see there really was no arguing.

“Fuck. ‘M going to have to go this year aren’t I?”

“‘Fraid so,” Niall said.

The two men looked back out over the glittering black sea, the moon overhead the only light illuminating the ocean and wild terrain surrounding them. Louis felt a familiar sense of dread and a sort of cloaked apathy swell inside his chest. He was going to have to see his father. And dig his tux out from the back of his closet.

He was pretty sure he wasn’t ready to go back to LA. But one thing was for sure, LA was ready for him. Always.

****

The next morning was sluggish and overcast, Louis’ mouth like dried wood and his head foggy like the small alcove his little bit of ocean lie beside. He stood at his kitchenette sink, in the small studio apartment attached to his shop, and steeped his tea, wearing just his underwear. There was a chill in the air today, Big Sur weather was nothing if not unpredictable.

A lone hawk flew overhead, zipping into the treeline behind Louis’ shop. Louis yawned and tried to come up with a plausible excuse that would allow him to not drive down to LA today. Something. Something…

Nothing.

His father expected him. And he couldn’t avoid him forever.

As it was, he only saw his father over the Christmas holidays at their home in Vale. And even then, Louis avoided him as much as possible, staying out skiing and hitting up the gay bars in the resort town, looking for ways to to stay out of the sterile house his father referred to as “Paradiso”.

But.

The gala was an annual charity event held in his grandmother’s name and even Louis, who despised the glitz and fake smiles and flashing cameras of LA, couldn’t come up with a single reason to miss it this year. It was his duty, after all.

Chase Tomlinson was something of a legend in the music business. He was the most sought after producer of his generation, and those that came before and after him. Everything he touched turned to gold. Everything, that is, except his family.

Louis had only one memory of his mother. And it was at the beach. The sound of waves whispering against the sand and the feel of hot sun on his tiny arms were the backdrop to a perfect memory of Johanna Tomlinson silhouetted against the warm yellow glow of late day sun. Her auburn hair hung in waves around her face, blue eyes glowing and warm as she looked down at her son, her only child.

“Love you baby,” she had said.

And to Louis, it was everything he needed to know, to remember, that his mother had loved him. Once upon a time, on some beach, he had felt love. Probably the only time in his life that he had felt it. And he kept it locked inside, like a treasure.

He shivered, the tiny apartment leaking heat through every crack and crevice. It was July, Louis thought, he refused to put on the heat. He crossed the room to his tiny wardrobe and pulled out the navy blue tuxedo from the back, still wrapped in plastic from two years ago when he wore it last. He groaned. Fucking tux. Fucking ball. Fucking LA.

His phone buzzed on his nightstand, the tiny twin cot lying unmade next to it. Two steps and he was seated on the thin mattress opening up his messenger.

_Niall: What time are we leaving_

_Louis: As late as possible_

_Niall: Haha._

_Louis: Pick you up at 11_

_Niall: I’ll be waiting_

_Niall: With bells on_

Louis smiled and put his phone down, exchanging it for the gala invitation that had sat on his nightstand for the past three weeks. His grandmother’s face was in a sepia photograph on the corner of the expensive looking embossed cardstock. The details for the event were in gilded scrolled lettering, over the top as usual, everything his father did was over the top. On the back of the invitation, in his father’s secretary’s neat handwriting were the details for his hotel accommodations. There was no handwritten “see you there” from his dad or even a “your dad looks forward to seeing you” from Anna, his secretary. Just the name of the hotel and confirmation number.

Stark. Professional. Void of any emotion.

Just like his father.

Louis inhaled and slumped back into his bed. He watched a clump of dense clouds crawl across the sky through his window. He’d have to put the top on his jeep. It looked like it would be a foggy day.

If there was anything worse than driving down to LA to see his father in some pretentious venue with his pretentious suit and his pretentious friends it was driving down to LA in the heavy fog. Louis closed his eyes and willed a comet to hit his house.

It didn’t come. He’d have to go to LA.

****

Louis leaned forward and strained his eyes to see the road in front of him, which was cloaked in thick, gray fog. He had turned the music down—because everyone knows that when it’s quiet in the car you can see better—but it was hard to concentrate because of Niall’s loud snoring. The PCH had been clear and beautiful until they got closer to the city. Now, they were surrounded by heavy, dirty fog and typical abhorrent traffic.

Louis’ mind was wandering. Always trapped in the past. He never liked seeing his father, the first few moments the worst. His father’s eyes would roam his face, his body, his clothing...never really seeing him, just looking for some sign that the dismal disappointment of a son had changed somehow, improved in some way.

After his mother had died, Louis’ grandmother had moved from England to live with Louis and his father, taking over Louis’ care. Right away Louis had felt a bond with Pearl, his mother’s mother. Not exactly a replacement, but someone he trusted and who cared for him deeply. His father had sunk into a deep depression after Johannah’s death and slowly replaced family with work, until, over the years, he wasn’t even a presence in Louis’ life. He was just a shadow on the periphery.

Thank God for Pearl. She became everything to Louis. And Louis to her. They took over the guest house behind the palatial estate occupied by Louis’ father alone and made a home unlike anything Louis had experienced in his four years with his father. Pearl made sure that Louis had “real kid” experiences like going to museums, playing in city parks, attending public school...doing everything in her power to keep Louis “normal” as she called it. Louis’ father didn’t seem to have an opinion, so Pearl just did what she did best. She gave Louis a world where he wasn’t a world famous music producer’s son, just Louis, just her grandson.

It was Pearl who first signed him up for surfing lessons. It was on a whim one day when they were at the beach. Louis expressed an interest and Pearl followed up. It was a simple as that. A passion was born that day on the beach, and Pearl fed it, nurtured it and helped it grow.

Once, when he was about fourteen, Louis’ father had requested his presence at a dinner party he was throwing. Invited guests included Stevie Nicks and Don Henley. Louis had balked at the request and had been punished in the worst way possible. Louis’ father threatened to cut off the money for Louis surfing lessons if he didn’t agree to a summer internship at the office he ran.

Louis watched LA emerge through the curtain of fog as his jeep eased into the city limits. The fog outside matched his melancholy mood. Going to LA was always like this, whether it was raining or sunny, it felt like sinking into a gray cloud. And if Louis wasn’t careful, he might sink so deep he’d never get out.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

As usual, Chase Tomlinson made a complete spectacle of himself and the event held in Louis’ beloved grandmother’s name.

The production lot was transformed into a three-ring circus. Ginormous tents covered the area and the ground was carpeted in plush orientals, with tables, chandeliers, fine china...the lot. It was everything Pearl would have hated.

Louis winced at the bright spotlights scanning the night sky and felt his stomach twist when he saw photographers lining the red carpet entrance to the venue. He just couldn’t understand why his father had to make such a big showy deal out of something that should have been more reverant, more refined...more _Pearl_ , for god’s sake. He handed his keys to the valet and met Niall at the side of the car.

“Ready?” Niall’s voice was jovial, as usual, but Louis could hear the concern there too.

“As I’ll ever be.”

Pulling his sunglasses off of his purposefully messy hair and over his eyes, Louis crowded into Niall’s side as they pushed their way forward. Thankfully the flavor of the month seemed to be capturing just about everyone’s attention so the pair was able to get into the entrance with very little fanfare. Louis could feel his blood begin to boil, the anger toward his father ever-present and waiting to erupt.

“Ah. Here’s what the doctor ordered!” Niall cheered, scooping up two champagne flutes from a passing server.

Louis accepted his wordlessly and drained it before the server had even passed. He reached out and took another before she could get too far. Niall only quirked an eyebrow and sipped from his glass delicately. He knew better than to question Louis’ alcohol intake—especially when Chase was concerned.

Pocketing his shades, Louis followed Niall deeper into the room. If he could, Louis would hide behind one of the garrish drapes that swooped along the tented walls. He would crawl up under one of the tables or hide out in the makeshift five star kitchen he was sure was crammed in somewhere. But he couldn’t. He had to face the music.

“Son!”

Louis felt it before he heard it. The boom of Chase Tomlinson’s voice reverberated in the cavernous space like a rumbling hurricane. The sturdy clap on his shoulder was enough to send Louis jolting forward, spilling his drink on the front of his pressed white shirt.

“ _Dad_.” He couldn’t hide the obvious scorn in his voice.

“Glad you could make it.” Chase’s voice had that edge to it that often preceded some sort of put-down.

Louis looked at his father over the rim of his glass. His dad had a few more grey hairs at the temples and maybe a new line or two around his eyes, but he was mostly still the devastatingly handsome man that held Hollywood and the entire music world in the palm of his hand. He looked tired, older somehow, but still buzzing with his trademark energy.

“Couldn’t afford a decent tux, eh?”

And there it was.

“Didn’t need one,” came Louis’ surly reply.

Niall surged forward, thrusting his hand out. “Mr. Tomlinson. Pleasure to see you again sir.”

“Kiss ass,” Louis muttered underneath his breath, draining his second glass. He looked around the quickly filling room for another passing tray.

Louis’ father shook Niall’s hand cordially, for appearances, of course, but didn’t waste any breath on him. He’d made it abundantly clear, on several occasions, what he thought of the “barkeep” and his association with his son. Yet another reason to hate his father, Louis thought.

“Try to be social tonight, son.” Louis father was already looking for his next conversation, the next connection, deal, association that would make him bigger, better, wealthier. “Oh — and, I need to have a conversation with you after.” His father waved his hand around, dismissing him while also indicating that he expected Louis to comply.

Louis grabbed another glass, chugging it wholeheartedly in front of his father. “Naturally,” he responded, doing his best to adopt his dad’s nasal high class tone.

His father ignored him and was already about a foot away before the word left Louis’ lips. He stopped abruptly and turned to level his son with an icy stare. “And for god’s sake, call Anna to get that ridiculous situation on your head fixed.”

Louis instinctively ran his hand through his hair, the stark blonde strands holding fast to the styling product he’d applied miles and hours ago. “You don’t like it?” Louis went for sarcastic but he was queasy from the approval seeking in his tone.

“You look like an imbecile.” His father glared at Niall, who had strikingly similar hair—as well he should, since he dyed both of them last month when Louis had lost a bet over how many pups the seals would have in their little alcove by the sea.

Niall stepped closer to his friend, Louis glad to have his solid comfort next to him. Louis’ father was already gone, the scent of expensive cologne and an embarrassing amount of riches left behind. “Well, that was fun.”

Louis finished his third glass and licked his lips. “Let’s go to the bar. Need something stronger if I’m gonna get through tonight.”

Niall shook his head and followed his single-minded friend.

****

“Again!” Louis slammed down the shot glass with a satisfying thud, drawing the attention of not only the bartender, but a few socialites and celebs as well. Niall grinned and followed suit. They took another shot and Louis turned toward the room, elbows up and on the bar, one leg crossed in front of the other. People were milling about, all trying to one up each other with their outfits, their accomplishments, their money...it was all so stupid to Louis.

It was times like these when he really, desperately, missed his grandmother. Pearl used to say something about being able to tell a person’s values by their last checkbook stub. In this case, that wasn’t necessarily true, Louis thought. Everyone in this room was here for a reason other than contributing to ovarian cancer research. Scoffing, Louis scanned the room, his lips twisted into a sneer. He couldn’t wait to get the fuck out of here. If his father’s history was anything to go by there would be some sort of over-the-top performance or otherwise pompous show of vulgar distaste disguised as “entertainment”, during which he and Niall could make their escape.

Louis was just about to turn back to the bar to ask for two fingers of whiskey, neat, thank you very much, when his eye caught a spectacle of a man walking toward him.

Wearing a flowy, practically see-through ruffled blouse—because that’s what it was, not a shirt, but a blouse—and unjustifiably tight jeans, a long-legged delicious looking boy was heading straight for him. Louis never cruised at his father’s functions. Never. But...looking at the man barely able to walk in a straight line toward him (Was he drunk? Or just incapable of walking straight?) he thought he might have to change his policy.

The guy was tall and thin, but not in a skinny way. It was more reminiscent of the weeping willow trees his grandmother was so fond of painting. Long, graceful...full of an easy charm that belied its ability to grow in flood-heavy soil. He gave off that kind of vibe...strong but soft. A juxtaposition of contradictions wrapped up in something a bit like sex incarnate.

The man walked right up to him. He stared down at Louis with alarmingly bright, dancing, evergreen eyes. Louis licked his lips and dragged his eyes up the man’s torso, the urge to lean in and sniff overpowering him. “Louis Tomlinson?”

“Uh, yeah. Who’s asking?” Louis teased. He wanted to tease this boy, see how far he could push him.

“Hi!” The man smiled, a huge wide mouth lighting up the room with straight, square teeth and glistening pink lips. Louis noted his long hair that hung in loose curls around his face and dropped like poetic snowflakes over his broad shoulders.

“Hi?”

“Oh!” Tall and Curly let out a boisterous laugh that seemed more like a mating call than anything else. “Right. Um...I was hoping I’d get to meet you.”

Louis arched an eyebrow at the man and looked askance at Niall. Niall was grinning goofily, slurping on his drink like he was in a three dollar movie theatre. “Well. You’ve met me. Now what?” Louis gripped the boy’s elbow, feeling the silky material of his blouse, the hot smooth skin beneath it burning into his skin. He thought the man shivered. Maybe.

The man leaned forward, tucking his hair behind his ear. His mouth came close, closer, closer to Louis’ ear until the words practically crawled their way inside. “Your picture doesn’t do you justice.” His voice was deep and husky, the sound of it like a great big hand wrapping around Louis’ long neglected cock.

Louis straightened up a bit, trying to clear his head because this was going somewhere fast and he didn’t even know the guy’s name. “Hm?”

Tall Guy smiled and stayed close but talked directly at Louis, instead of into his still tingling ear. “Saw your picture at the recording office. Anna said…”

“Wait. Wait a fucking minute.” Louis pushed back so that the taller man had nowhere to go but backward, away from Louis, taking the heat of his body with him. “The record—what?”

The man looked confused for a second before he regained his earlier confidence. “Right. Um...I just started—”

“Oh. Oh.” Louis exhaled in a hot hurried rush, running a hand over the thickening scruff lining his jaw. Relief coursed through his body. “You...you work there? You’re not like a...um...an...artist, a _singer_ , or anything?” There was still an edge of venom to his voice but it was cooling quickly. He heard Niall snort. He ignored him.

The man stared at Louis for a beat before drawling, “Riiiiiight...I ‘work there’.” He flipped his hair over the top of his head, showing off a slight widow’s peak. Louis was distracted for a moment at how the movement seemed sensual, almost fluid with how he let the silky strands slide through his long dexterous fingers before pulling on a curl that slid down over his collar bone. There was something about this guy. Something _magnetic_. Pulling him in, pulling him closer.

“So. You got a name?” Louis was feeling emboldened with liquid courage.

The man threw his head back and laughed. Louis was transfixed by the long line of his neck and the way his hair just seemed to frame it so perfectly. “Uh yeah. I got a name.”

Louis couldn't figure out what was so funny, so he shook his head and turned back to the bar, the man falling in line in the space Niall seemed to have disappeared from. Louis had hoped he would follow.

Louis gestured toward the bartender, signaling for two more shots. Louis’ new friend called over to the man behind the counter for a glass of water. Louis shrugged. More for him, he thought. Once Louis drained another shot glass, feeling a bit more light headed, he looked at the intriguing stranger with new eyes, feeling a bit overwhelmed by the other man’s bright beautiful face and the way he was just looking back at him, staring straight into his eyes. It was unnerving, to be the focus of such intensity. Such _interest_. Louis felt something snap inside him. Something long buried and cold. Something he hadn’t felt or thought about in a long, long time.

“So, about that name?”

The boy smirked. “So we’re really playing it this way, huh?”

Louis didn’t miss a beat. “We can play it anyway you want darling.” He dragged a finger along the soft inside of the man’s inner arm, earning a shudder as his nail scraped lightly against the sensitive skin there. He liked that he made him do that, wanted to do it again.

The other man stared down at Louis and searched his eyes. “Yeah. Ok,” he finally said, grinning widely. “My name is Harry.”

Louis gripped his wrist, slowly letting his hand slide into Harry’s waiting palm. The feeling of their palms pressed together, a little sweaty and maybe a little shaky — at least on Louis’ part — felt so good, so perfect that Louis had to look down at the pair of hands to make sure that it was real.

It was.

The thing was, Louis hadn’t felt this attracted, this drawn, to someone in years. He’d had a few hook ups here and there but his life was a solitary one. He was happy with his little ramshackle shop away from most of the world. He was happy with life on the ocean. Sea breeze and salt tracks drying on his skin, long days melting into longer nights. He didn’t really feel like anything was missing in his life.

Until now.

Harry’s hand folded around Louis’ in such a way that Louis felt small, dainty. And usually that was something that Louis avoided at all costs. He wasn’t small. He wasn’t frail. He was sturdy and strong. He maintained that position always. Especially when Niall had him trapped under his arm and rubbed aggressive knuckles on the top of his head screaming “noogies!”

But with Harry and Harry’s practically colossal hand it felt different. It felt nice. Nice to have something bigger surround him--even in this small way. Nice to feel a little protected. Even if it was just for a moment. Even if it was just a handshake.

Louis snapped out of it just as the house lights blinked overhead. “Harry,” he murmured, dragging his hand away. He felt strange, floaty...like he was suddenly missing something. “It’s nice to meet you.” He felt like the two of them were trapped in a place without time, without logic.

“Nice to meet you too, Louis Tomlinson.” Harry paused, licking his lips and still looking, staring, at Louis’. “I’ve...uh...I’ve got to go, though. I’m sorry. But — will you — will you be here? After? So we can talk?”

“I don’t think I could move if I tried,” Louis said, his voice dreamy and definitely not strong and solid.

Harry smirked. Louis noticed that his lips were a little lopsided and the fullness of them made him look quirky. Louis would very much like to kiss those lips. He was willing to bet the Harry tasted like edible flowers, sugar crusted and petal soft. Perhaps he’d have his chance, he thought, after whatever asinine entertainment his father had planned.

Harry walked away, turning once, twice, to look and make sure Louis was still there. Louis felt his stomach flutter in excitement as he thought about that look he saw in Harry’s eyes as he finally turned the corner, out of sight.

It looked like promise.

And that was something Louis was very much counting on.

****

“Ladies and gentleman! Have I got a treat for you!” Louis’ father bellowed into the microphone, seeming to inflate with the loud cheers that crowded the makeshift space.

Louis mimicked a rude gesture with his fist and mouth, rolling his tongue around his inner cheek for effect. Niall laughed so loud he snorted his scotch.

“Please join me in welcoming…” Pause for maximum thrill factor… “Lady Gaga!”

The crowd of fame-hungry and power-wielding who’s whos yelped and roared, making Louis feel like knocking a few of their stupid balloon heads together. The lights went down and a spotlight appeared on the stage at the front of the room.

_It’s been a long time since I came around_

_Been a long time but I’m back in town_

_This time I’m not leaving without you_

Louis had to hand it to his father. Even he had to admit that this was good. Lady Gaga was prime real estate with a crowd like this and it made Chase Tomlinson look like a god. Pulling off a surprise like this, at a fundraiser no less, was impressive.

The singer on stage was wearing a relatively simple pair of jeans and a leather bustier along with teetering Laboutin heels. Her hair was styled in a sleek asymmetrical platinum bob and she wore bright red lipstick and not much else in the way of makeup. She looked stunning and, paired with the stark lighting and pared back music, she was captivating.

Glancing at Niall, Louis mirrored his friend’s look of mild disbelief. This was good. _Actually_ good.

A second voice, deep and a bit nasal but with a rich, almost raspy timbre, slow and deliberate, joined in.

_You taste like whiskey when you kiss me, oh_

_I'd give anything again to be your baby doll_

_This time I’m not leaving without you_

A second light accompanied the first on the inky black stage, illuminating a bar stool about two feet away from Gaga. There, sitting on the barstool, wearing a sheer purple shirt that was only buttoned up about a third of the way, and skintight black leather pants and purple, fucking _glitter-covered_ purple, platform heeled boots, was Harry. Louis’ Harry. Well, hopefully his Harry. And what the fuck?

The crowd erupted in impassioned applause. Louis felt his jaw drop. All the way to the floor. Because. What? What was _his_ Harry doing on stage with Lady fucking Gaga?

_He said, Sit back down where you belong_

_In the corner of my bar with your high heels on_

Harry lifted a lithe leg and placed a heeled boot on the light box. He cupped his impressive bulge and sang the next part with his eyes closed and his voice full of ardour.

Louis thought he might pass out.                                                                                                  

_Sit back down on the couch where we_

_Made love the first time and you said to me,_

Gaga sauntered up to Harry and draped herself over his front, wrapping a leg around his leg like a snake. Harry gripped the small of her back and played along, both camping it up for the audience, for the sheer entertainment of it all. Harry’s big hand seemed to tighten over Gaga’s skin as he belted out the next part, thrusting his hips a bit to the other performer’s squirmy undulations.

_There’s something, something about this place_

_Something, something, ’bout lonely nights_

_And my lipstick on your face_

Louis watched in disbelief as the two of them continued the song. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Harry. The handsome boy he just met. On stage. Niall nudged him and said, “Dude, can’t believe your dad got Harry Styles.”

Louis blinked and tore his eyes off of Harry, who was on the move now, his long legs sauntering up and down the stage, every line and ripple of muscle beneath those tight, tight pants showcased for all the world to see. “Harry who?”

Niall chuckled and puffed in his ear, “Harry fucking Styles, Lou. Where have you been? Under a rock or somethin’?”

Louis stared at Niall for a moment. Well, no, not a rock exactly, but he hadn’t exactly been social over the past few years. He looked back to the stage. Harry walked in those fucking boots like a runway model meets porn star, strutting and rolling those sinful hips under the bright lights. In the flashing lights that had appeared after the intro, Louis could see the miles of skin under the sheer indecent shirt and tattoos that ran up and down the singer’s arms and torso. He was like a mirage up there. Singing his heart out and shaking that round little ass of his. He was like a different person — like maybe he had two personalities. Stage Harry and regular-trying-to-pick-a-guy-up-at-a-bar Harry. Gaga seemed to take a backseat to Harry’s stage antics. And that was really saying something because...well, she was Lady Gaga, after all.

Louis purposely avoided most rock and pop music for a reason. That was his dad’s realm, his dad’s life. Not his. When he was a teenager Louis stopped listening to anything that his dad’s hands might have touched. He listened to some classical music, but mostly he listened to the sea. Nature was a soundtrack to him. The sound of wind in summer brush, waves pounding the shore, the bark of a seal, the cry of a gull...those were the musical notes that filled his ears. And that was all that he really wanted to hear.

So, no. He hadn’t heard of Harry Styles. Lady Gaga, yes. But only because Niall insisted on blaring “Bad Romance” whenever he’d had too much to drink and he got caught up thinking about his one true love — some girl from college that he hadn’t seen or spoken to in years. If Harry Styles was on stage with Lady Gaga, who Louis knew was one of his dad’s clients, that probably meant that Harry was one of his clients too, which...no. _Hell no_. Louis would not, could not get involved in this.

Not now. Not ever. His stomach clenched at the thought.

Still…

Harry was caressing the microphone like a lover on stage, the long polished steel pole sliding between his leather clad legs effortlessly. His eyes seemed to find Louis’ in the dark crowded room as he crooned.

_There's only three men that I'mma serve my whole life_

_It's my daddy and Nebraska and Jesus Christ_

Louis felt his cock twitch. Just a little. But twitch it did, and he was inundated with visions of Harry and that mouth and those legs and that hair, and oh Christ, those hands. And he said “ _daddy_ ” and…it was a lot.

The song finished, to thunderous applause, and Harry and Gaga hugged, Harry towering over the woman by nearly a foot in those gargantuan boots of his. Chase took the stage and embraced both performers, a “I make a mint off of these two” smile plastered to his face as he grappled for Harry’s microphone like the fame hog that he was. Louis had to look away. Seeing his dad next to Harry was like a kick to the stomach.

“Thank you! Thank you! I hope you enjoyed that little performance by my most revered and successful artist and by our label’s biggest splash — newcomer Harry Styles!” Chase Tomlinson was beaming, smiling at Harry like there were sunbeams coming out of his ass.

Harry had the decency to look sheepish, at least, making Louis feel like at least he wasn’t as full of himself as most artists his dad worked with. Chase continued, “Harry has a lot of music coming out in the next few months and I’m sure he will be just as much of a star as our Lady here.” Gaga smiled, hip checking Chase in the process. “But seriously folks, our Harry here is something else. And I’m sure you’ll be hearing a lot more from him in the years to come. He’s like a true son to me. And…” Chase’s voice clogged with emotion. Fucking fake ass drama queen, Louis thought while simultaneously feeling like Chase’s words were stabbing him in the chest. The only words he could hear were “like a true son to me”... “true son”. He felt like the room had turned on its side and vomit rose in the back of his throat.

_True son._

Because if Harry was a true son, then what did that make Louis? He felt Chase’s disappointment roll over him, even through the dense crowd. He was never enough, never what his father wanted or expected. Never the son Chase felt he deserved. Inferior in every way.

Right.

Louis turned on his heel and bolted toward the door, not caring who he bumped into or what kind of scene he was making. He heard Niall call after him but he ignored him. He just needed to get out of there. Away from his father. Away from LA. Away from Harry fucking Styles. The prettiest boy he’d ever seen and surely the first guy he’d really been truly attracted to in years. But he was off limits now, that much was clear.

And Louis couldn’t run fast enough.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

The smell of sandpaper and fine wood shavings filled Louis’ nostrils. That, and the ever present scent of the brine and sea kelp mixed with the sharp tang of spray paint and tempera paint usually made Louis feel comfort, peace. But not today.

The shade of green that the Olympic athlete’s board Louis had been commissioned for was a cross between Granny Smith apple green and turquoise. It was an unusual color, pretty and tranquil, but it was making Louis abnormally cross today. Because it reminded him of something. _Someone_ , in particular.

It was the exact shade of Harry’s Styles’ eyes.

And it was pissing him off.

It had been three weeks since the gala and to Louis it had felt like an eternity. Endless days of feeling lost and hopeless, only to be eclipsed by bitter anger and fury at his father. His father, who probably had no idea what he had done, he was so self-involved. It made Louis _seethe_. But not just because his dad was such an asshat. It was more than that.

He was pissed and even a little melancholy because his dad had to get his hooks into the only guy he’d ever really wanted. And not just wanted...it was more than that He had felt an instant connection with Harry. And that completely sucked because he was off limits now. Not only did Louis not get involved with musicians, he definitely didn’t get involved with musicians that his _father_ was involved with. Because it felt incestous. Wrong.

Louis took it out on the board.

Dropping the third can of spray paint he reached for the white tempera. He slashed the brush through the air, paint landing haphazardly across the board’s pristine, colorful surface. The effect was startling; angry even. He did it again. And again. Stark white burst through the vivid shade of green, marring the perfect surface that made Louis remember that night, those eyes.

And fuck if the white didn’t make the green all that much more bright, captivating. Like Harry.

Several times over the past few weeks Louis had woken up dreaming about that performance of Harry’s. The way his legs looked in those leather pants had been sinful. He dreamt about Harry’s deep silky voice and the way it had felt when he leaned in and whispered in his ear. He dreamt that he had been able to stay after the performance, talk to Harry more, leave with him...figure out what the insane fusion between the two of them was…

One thing was for sure, Harry had presence. Not just stage presence... _presence_. Louis felt so stupid feeling like this over some man he barely talked to. It felt like some ridiculous teenage crush. And he didn’t do crushes.

They’d only spoken a few sentences to one another but the way Harry had looked at him, talked to him, touched him...it was like soul mate type shit. Louis was perplexed. Of course he _had_ to be a singer. Of course he had to be one of his _dad’s_ singers.

Life was complete shit.

If making an excellent board like the one in front of him wasn’t bringing him out of his funk he’d have to get out on the water. That was really the only thing that could possibly do the trick. Louis swept up the empty cans and his supplies and dropped them in the utility sink behind him in the tiny shed that was his workshop. He looked over the board one more time and shook his head. It was gorgeous. And he could care less.

He walked out of his workshop, bypassing the small hot tub on his back deck and went inside his apartment. Quickly changing from his clothes and into his summer wetsuit, Louis smeared thick waterproof sunscreen over his face and arms. His body was all twitchy and he felt anxiety well up inside him. He needed to get in the water. He felt that deep-seated need to lose himself in the waves, in the feeling of being completely alone, completely responsible for his survival on his board. The feeling of balance and turbulence coming together as he rode wave after wave was exactly what he needed now. He needed it to forget.

****

There was this feeling. This feeling of chasing, chasing, chasing and when you catch it, it is so brief, so fleeting that you feel like like maybe you imagined it. But you know you didn’t because your heart is beating so fast and your body feels so alive, so perfectly _alive_ , that you know it happened.

And _that’s_ what Louis was looking for.

But he wasn’t getting it. Not today.

Every wave he tried to catch came up short. He was flung around the sea like a ragdoll, not getting any relief, nothing that he needed. Disgusted, he flattened his body to his board and let the water carry him in after nearly an hour of trying.

He paused his paddling to watch a couple of seals dozing on the rocks that jutted out from the inlet. They looked content, their big round bellies turned up toward the sun, noses touching and hind flippers patting each other sporadically. One of them, the smaller of the two, looked fuller than the other. Almost like she’d had too much shellfish for lunch. They looked content. Satisfied.

Pushing himself up and out of the spray, Louis scowled at the happy mammals lazing the day away. Not even the ocean, his normal accomplice in evading life, was cooperating with him today. Louis trudged through the waves and flopped down on the sand near the shore. He could hear small snuffles and obnoxious little snorts coming from the lovebirds to his left.

Fucking seals.

He wasn’t sure how long he lay there on the sandy floor, watching the clouds overhead and feeling the salty foam tickle his toes. All he knew was that he was moody and his stomach rumbled and he needed a beer. Beer would cure his melancholy mood.

Right.

The walk up the path was steep, but Louis was used to it. Once he reached the crest and could see his little shop and home across the road, he felt a tiny flutter of relief. He pulled his wetsuit down to his waist and welcomed the slight dry breeze on his hot skin. What he really wanted to do was lock himself inside and drink himself into oblivion. But he wouldn’t. He’d done enough of that over the past few weeks. He’d walk down the road and drink himself to oblivion at Niall’s.

Twenty minutes later Louis was pushing the door open to “Niall’s” — creative moniker as it was — “Barkeep! Tend to me,” he bellowed.

Niall smirked from behind the counter, wiping down the oak bar top. “Someone’s in a mood.”

“I need alcohol. Stat.” Louis grimaced, sliding into the stool that he commandeered. He liked being at the end of the bar, near the side exit. That way he could see whoever came in and out and could make a speedy exit if the bar got too crowded for his liking. Not that it ever did. Niall’s wasn’t exactly the kind of place one would call booming. More like...off the beaten path.

Niall slid a glass of Stella Artois in front of Louis, which he greedily grabbed and guzzled until it was half empty. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand he stared at Niall’s arched brow over the bar. “What?”

Niall shook his head and tossed the rag into the sink and poured himself a glass of Bushmill’s. He walked around to the front of the bar and sat opposite his friend. “What’s got your knickers all in a twist then?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Niall sipped his whiskey and waited Louis out. Louis felt his cheeks turn pink with burning embarrassment. He hated that Niall knew him so well.

“For fuck’s sake.”

Niall grinned and took another sip. The bar was completely empty, save the two of them, twilight dancing over the worn wood floor in shades of pink and lilac. Louis scrunched his eyes shut and took another healthy sip. “I’m just…”

Niall scooted closer, the heat from his knee seeping into Louis’, the feeling one of comfort and tranquility. “’S Harry, isn’t it?”

Louis glared at Niall. “No. It’s not,” he said emphatically. Because it wasn’t. He was just in a funk, that’s all. “It’s not.”

Niall quietly walked around to the back of the bar again and filled Louis’ glass. Louis accepted it soundlessly. “Fine. It’s Harry.”

“Knew it!” Niall cheered boisterously.

Louis punched him in the arm. Niall winced, kicking Louis back in the shin. They traded punches and rough shoves for a few seconds before Louis shouted, “Knock it off!”

Niall laughed and pushed away from his friend, draining his glass. “There’s no shame in it, Lou.”

Louis looked down into his glass, thinking it had the answers to his love life. Or lack thereof.

Niall continued, “He’s hot, you’re hot...you guys clicked. Why wouldn’t you feel star crossed?”

Louis stared at Niall blankly. “Star crossed?”

“Yeah. Star crossed, lovelorn, besotted...whatever it is you gay dudes do with each other.”

Louis stared at Niall. Niall stared at Louis.

“Whatever, man,” Niall said flatly. “It was like fate or some shit. Just sayin’”.

Louis scoffed and finished his second beer. He nodded toward the bar and Niall waved him away. Louis walked around and served himself. Once he was back in his seat Niall gave him a shit eating grin.

“What?”

“Just that...well...I might know something about your little love interest.”

“He’s not my —” Louis glared at Niall. “He’s not my anything.”

Niall picked up the remote on the bar and flicked on the sound system. Cowboy Junkies filled the room. “Ok.”

“He’s _not_.”

“I said ok.”

Louis crossed his arms over his chest. “Fine.”

“Fine.”

The two were quiet, the only sound the rush of waves behind the building coming through the open screen door to Louis’ rear and the melody of “Sweet Jane” swirling through the bar. Niall broke the quiet first. “Oh. I have a guest coming in late tonight.”

“Oh?” Louis tapped his foot to the music.

“Yeah. Can you um...bring a stack of towels up to the room? I didn’t get a chance to earlier.” Niall scratched at his scruff, eyes darting around the room as Louis searched his face.

“Why are you being such a lazy ass all of a sudden?”

Niall laughed loudly. “All of a sudden? Are you really that surprised?”

Louis pushed himself off of his seat, heading to the store room behind the bar where Niall’s washer and dryer were. “Fine,” he called over his shoulder, “but you better have refilled my beer and turned off that depressing music by the time I get back!”

He could hear Niall chuckling as the CDs churned in the stereo. Just as he entered the back room he heard the beginning notes of “Welcome to the Jungle”. He smirked and resisted the urge to head bang a little while walking toward the laundry and supply room.

Behind the bar, overlooking a slight ravine that sloped down to the ocean was a full set of windows and a handsome varnished oak set of stairs. The stairwell led up to the guest room and adjoining bath. It wasn’t fancy but it was cozy, quaint and cheap. A lot of students stayed at Niall’s while on summer holiday or the room saw the occasional couple honeymooning along the coast, making their way up to the vineyards from LA.

Louis grabbed the fluffy, white towels that were folded neatly on top of the dryer and made his way up the solid staircase. Sunlight glimmered off the ocean as the big ball of orange fire was eclipsed by the horizon. It made everything inside the open staircase glow incandescent gold. He got to the top of the stairs and felt a gentle tremor of fatigue zip through his veins. He chalked it up to the alcohol and the morose feeling he’d been fighting all day.

Turning the handle, Louis pushed the door open. He entered the darkening room and shouted in surprise, dropping the pristine cotton bundle from his arms.

“Oh! Louis!”

Louis squeaked and felt his pulse jump in his throat. He rubbed his eyes and stared back at the man in the middle of the one room suite.

Because. Harry was there. Standing in the room, holding a guitar, in just a pair of track shorts and practically an acre of smooth tanned skin, dotted with black ink and tiny blonde hairs silhouetted against the evening light streaming through the lone window and it was…

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Louis exclaimed.

Harry dropped his guitar on the sofa and opened his mouth, his pretty, pretty mouth, but Louis put his hand up and shook his head. This wasn’t, couldn’t be, happening. Not when he’d been fighting for all of these long weeks just to forget about Harry Styles. Just when he was starting to accept the fact that his revulsion for his father would never end and that he’d never be able to escape the feeling of ineptitude and disappointment that settled in the pit of his stomach when he thought of his father.

And then here was Harry. Harry, who was a constant, beautiful reminder of his father. Harry who worked for his father. Or his label. He was technically on his father’s side of this battle. For whatever that was worth.

“You know what? No. Don’t bother.” Louis turned on his heel and raced out of the room, barreling down the stairs, rushing past the bar and Niall and a couple who had come in during his absence.

He plunged himself into the darkening night and ignored the sound of Niall calling after him. He heard the rushing of blood in his ears and he heard the sound of Harry’s voice in his head. And underneath it all he could see his father’s face, looking at him with sadness and contempt. And all he could do was run.

****

“And you didn’t think you should tell me?” Louis was shouting. He hated when he shouted. Because his voice came out sounding shrill and a bit hysterical but he couldn’t help it.

Niall just stretched his legs out on the adirondack and pulled at the hem of his shirt. “Would it have changed anything?”

Louis stopped in the middle of his pacing. He turned and looked out over the ocean, the sun glinting off the waves, gulls dotting the horizon like sprinkles on a cupcake. “No,” he sighed.

The night before Louis had raced back to his house and locked the door behind him. He had torn his clothes off furiously and pulled out that stupid bottle of vodka from his freezer and retreated to his bedroom. Not exactly proud, he had himself a desperate wank in his shower while drinking right out of the bottle. Why was fucking Harry Styles here? In his little quiet corner of the world, far removed from his father. Why?

“After you left that night at the gala he was frantic, looking for you,” Niall explained, “and I couldn’t exactly turn him away, you know?”

“No. I _don’t_ know. What did you do Niall?”

“I might have given him my number? Maybe told him he should look us up when he had some time off? You know...come hang out with us when he needed to get away for awhile?” Niall looked apologetic, but still wore a tiny smirk. Fucking bastard.

“Look. I don’t know what kind of matchmaking hell you are trying to drag me into but the answer is no. No. No. No.” Louis stomped his foot, aware of the fact that he probably looked like an overgrown toddler.

Nial shaded his eyes from the sun. “I mean. You could just have lunch with us.”

Louis exhaled roughly. “Fuck off Niall.”

Niall shrugged and pulled his sunglasses off his forehead over his eyes. “Whatever you say, boss.”

****

Of course Harry fucking Styles ordered _sparkling_ water.

Louis glared at him from behind his aviators. Fucking hipster singers who signed with asshole fathers and looked like fucking gods in leather pants and could outsing fucking Lady Gaga and…

Shit. He was really here. Harry was here and Louis couldn’t stop staring. And it was tragic. In every way.

Harry was really here and Louis was having lunch with him. He looked across the table at the man chewing on the crust of a baguette and wondered what the fuck was his life. Harry’s hair hung loose in silky waves around his face and his skin practically glowed in the bright midday light. He was wearing a flowy white see through — of course — number matched with black skin tight jeans.

And boots.

Sparkly blue boots.

Who wears boots in the middle of summer? In California?

Harry fucking Styles, apparently.

Louis himself was wearing a neon orange West Beach tank, jean shorts and tattered leather flip flops. Niall might have dragged him to lunch but he sure as hell didn’t make him dress up. He took an angry bite of his salmon burger.

Why Harry had to look so good, so relaxed, with the sun in his hair and the wind making his shirt flutter open...it was infuriating to Louis.

Niall was oblivious.

“So, Hazza….” Niall said through a mouthful of salad. Louis arched an eyebrow over his shades at the nickname. Niall just grinned in that goofy way of his. “How’s the new music coming along?”

“You know...it’s great,” Harry beamed, sipping his six dollar water. “The recording process was so cool and like, I just love everything about it. My first album was kind of heavily produced and managed for me. So, this time I wanted to have more of a say in the process and how things turned out.” He looked thoughtful while he pulled a piece of bread from the baguette and dragged it through the vodka sauce on his plate. “I’m so lucky to finally be here, you know? Doing what I love? I mean…” he paused to chew on the soggy bread he placed on his obscenely outstretched tongue — Louis didn’t need to see _that_ ever again. “I was just a college kid from Idaho a few years ago!”

Louis found himself smiling along before he caught himself. No, no, no, no. He wouldn’t be ensnared by a pretty boy with a pretty mouth and even prettier eyes talking about his dreams at making it big. Not when his father was poised like a spider sitting on a big fat web controlling the whole damn thing. No way. He looked down and pushed his fries around on his plate with his pickle spear.

“So cool, man.” Niall sipped his tea. “So like, how much time do you have off? How long are you staying in our neck of the woods?”

Louis choked on his beer. “Neck of the woods, Ni? Really?”

“What?” Niall’s face was like an open book. Right now the words spread across it were saying something like Louis was being ridiculous.

Harry tucked some hair around his ear. Louis watched his agile fingers curl around his smallish ear and tug the piece in place at the end of the long strand. “So, like. I’m really lucky that I get to...work with some good people.” He shot a glance at Louis before looking back at Niall and continuing, “And like, I can move at my own pace right now. I have to get back in the studio by September to add in a few melodies and then we start promo in October. So like...I’ve got a month or so?”

Louis couldn’t stop watching Harry’s mouth. It was mesmerizing. The way his plump lips rolled around words and his pretty, pink tongue subconsciously kept his lips wet and slick and the gentle way his teeth clacked together here and there...it was a little like watching porn.

And what the _fuck_ was wrong with him?

“What do you think Lou?”

He shook his head and looked over at Niall, “Hm?”

“I said, since Harry’s got so much time with us, we’ll have to take him out on a board, yeah?”

Louis gulped. The idea of Harry’s long, lean arms and legs spread out over a board with his hair slicked back and wet away from his face, droplets of water hanging from his long lashes, making his green eyes as magical as a tidepool...too much. Abort. Abort!

“I’m sure Louis will teach ya.” Louis came back to reality once again — Christ this was becoming a thing, wasn’t it?

“Teach who what?”

“Harry. Surfing. That’s what.”

“’M really more of a runner. Though I love to swim. Swam the five hundred butterfly all through high school.” Harry was babbling.

Louis was distracted again. Swimming. Right. That’s how he got those shoulders.

Niall kicked Louis under the table.

“Fuck me!” Louis bellowed. An elderly woman at the table next to them on the patio shot him a baleful glare. “Sorry,” he muttered.

Harry was smiling when he looked up. A simple, beautiful smile. The sort of smile that makes the clouds part and the sun shine and every bad thought fade into nothingness. It was nothing short of miraculous. Because Harry, Harry was beautiful always. But with that smile and the way the sun covered the crown of his head like a halo he looked positively beatific.

And Louis, for all his willful animosity toward his father, and all his regret and his intense desire to be as far as possible from all things music and LA and fame and it’s trappings...it all just...melted. Right there on a sunny central California day. Everything melted away like ice on scorching hot concrete. Louis felt himself dissolving, because Harry was there and he was smiling at him.

It was probably the most magical thing that had ever happened to Louis Tomlinson.

So, he did the only thing he could do in that magical moment. He smiled back.

****

“Careful! Careful!”

Harry grabbed for the bowl of orange paint just before it fell off the workbench and turned to Louis with a wide, pious grin on his face. “Got it!” he called out, right as he backed up into the shelf holding a collection of spray paints, brushes and airbrush guns. His back hit hard and he really had no chance at all.

It all tumbled down around him like rain on a spring morning.

Louis rushed to his side and tried to protect him from the blunt handles and metal tubes of disaster, but Harry just laughed and held his arms out over their heads, protecting both of them from the onslaught of art implements.

Despite Harry’s attempt at saving them, orange paint showered down, thick and vivid, much like the fugue that seemed to coat Louis’ brain whenever Harry was around. Harry had been staying at Niall’s for almost a week and slowly, deliberately, he’d wormed his way into Louis’ life. And every time he was near Harry, Louis couldn’t think straight. Initially, Louis acted put out, annoyed with Harry’s very existence. But it was just a ruse. The truth was, Louis was just _enamored_ with Harry.

Everyone was.

Harry was so enigmatic, was the thing. He was completely magnetic. And Louis couldn’t stay away, even if he tried.

Earlier in the week, Louis had gone to Niall’s for a burger and a beer during the day and Harry had been there. Louis had fully intended on remaining distant, but he just couldn’t. Harry looked so ridiculous when eating. He had this habit of sticking his tongue out obscenely as he took a bite and it was just too good to pass up. So, Louis had made fun of him.

“Dude. Do you wanna make out with that chili or eat it?” he had said.

That had earned him a slap on the head from Niall and a broad grin from Harry. “Jealous?” had been Harry’s simple reply.

And they were off. Louis took that as an open invitation to tease Harry and Harry rose to the challenge. Every time. Louis had to respect that.

Another day, after a miserable example of surfing, Harry had taken his long ostrich legs and offered to help Niall and Louis do some minor repairs on the roof of the surf shop. Louis had vehemently refused Harry’s help, based on his ungainliness alone — earning him another slap in the head from Niall — but Harry insisted.

Louis had taken a position on the roof while he called down orders for supplies to Niall and Harry had assumed the role of gopher, carrying supplies up and down the narrow ladder tucked along the edge of the building next to a palm tree. Louis may have called out the wrong items a few times or maybe, just maybe, sent Harry on one or two wild goose chases. And Harry did it all without complaint. In fact, he worked harder than Niall and Louis combined and that was, well...it challenged all of Louis’ perceptions about lazy, spoiled singers and their inflated egos.

It was refreshing. And surprising. In more ways than one.

After a few sun soaked, laborious hours, Louis made his way down the ladder, stumbling when he got to the last step.

“Oh!  Have to get my land legs!”

Harry was right there, strong steady hands on his biceps, helping him regain his balance.  Louis turned in his arms and looked up into his clear green eyes.  “Oh,” he breathed.  

Harry looked down at him, a small smile playing on his lips with nothing but kindness and maybe something more, something like desire in his eyes.  Louis looked from his eyes to his pretty, pale pink lips and back to those intense eyes.  

“You ok?” Harry asked, his voice a bit rough, deeper somehow.

“Yeah...I’m.  Uh,” Louis stammered, suddenly overcome with the overwhelming urge to kiss Harry, feel what those plump lips that he’d been staring at all week felt like, _tasted_ like.

“Hey Lou!  Where do you want me to put the…” Niall came around the corner, practically shouting, wielding a hammer like he was Thor.  “Oh.”

Like a rubber band snapping after being stretched to its limit, Louis felt the connection between the two of them break. He wriggled out of Harry’s hold, turned to face Niall and arched an eyebrow at his friend.  “Do you really want me to answer that?”  

Niall flipped Louis off.  Louis grabbed the trash can full of nails, roofing tiles and other debris, pulling it toward the back of the house.  “Coming Handyman Harry?” he threw over his shoulder.  

Harry took a moment before he was calling out, “Yeah, yeah.  I’ll grab the ladder.”

So there was that. And, during the week, Louis had noticed over and over how Harry just had these... _quirks_? Like he tended to stoop a little when he talked to people, staring intently in their eyes and making them feel like they were the most important, the only, thing in the world.

And he was pigeon toed. Obnoxiously so. It made him trip, and look awkward and endearing and it was really fucking getting to Louis.

And he wore these shirts? These shirts that were stupid and see through and had things like flowers on them? And Mickey Mouse and tropical birds and shit. _See through shirts_.  Shirts that Louis could see Harry’s nipples through.  And tattoos and what looked like miles and miles of soft but firm, muscled but pliable, skin.  And, that wasn’t endearing, it was sexy as hell. And it was driving Louis up a wall.

So, Harry Styles had gotten under his skin. Louis was charmed, despite himself and all of his attempts at maintaining distance.

So, it was no wonder that Louis now found himself staring back at Harry for a beat before the two of them stared at each other for a beat before bursting out into a crazed circus of laughter. Clumps of orange clung to Harry’s wild curls and Louis had to wipe at his eyes to keep the paint from dripping down into them. Harry’s cobalt blue t-shirt was spattered with orange and his bare toes looked like tiny little construction cones.

“Ah fuck, Harry! Look at us!” Louis practically screamed, the giddiness inside of him welling up and exploding into the air between them. He was learning that Harry was _fun_. No matter what they were doing he always had a good time.

Harry giggled and dropped the empty bowl of paint that Louis had just been using moments before. He took a deep breath, trying to collect himself, and reached out to swipe at a wayward stream of orange running toward Louis’ mouth. He paused, thumb pressing to Louis’ cheek. Louis stared up into Harry’s bright green eyes and felt his heart stutter. They’d had moments like this before. A few, the moment at the ladder just one of them.  

Another night at Niall’s, after a few too many frozen banana pina coladas, Niall had suggested that Harry walk Louis home.  Louis had practically punched Niall’s lights out, but had agreed when he had some trouble finding the door handle to the exit of the bar.  Harry slowly walked Louis home, droning on and on in that deep, sensual voice of his about something Louis could care less about about, but it was interesting because Harry was so into it.  So completely engrossed in talking about it.  

Louis got to the front door of the shop and Harry had to take the keys right from Louis’ hand — he couldn’t manage to fit the key into the slot, the alcohol numbing his motor skills — causing Louis to stumble at the electric feeling of Harry’s skin on his.  Not only was Louis drunk, but he was also off balance, out of sorts just from the warmth of Harry’s body next to his.  Harry had smiled down at Louis, Louis’ eyes bleary and slightly unfocused.  Louis wanted to kiss Harry, his mouth already tasting the peppermint off of Harry’s tongue, but he let out an embarrassing coconut rum scented belch instead.  That sort of ruined the moment.  Harry had made sure Louis got inside safely and had given a swaying Louis a lingering hug instead.  

But this time, covered in orange paint, shuddering at the _closeness_ of Harry, the intensity of him, it was really hard to push away. It was getting harder to resist Harry’s pull, the complete and utter enigma of him.

Harry gently stroked Louis’ cheek and Louis tilted his head into it. Harry unfurled his fingers and held the curve of Louis’ jaw, fingers skating over the hair at his temple. Louis’ eyes fluttered as he focused on Harry’s lips. He felt their bodies sway closer and suddenly he could smell Harry everywhere. The scent of summer and coconut and tart lime — with the pungent scent of paint — washed over him. He could feel Harry’s breath cover his nose and chin and he wanted a taste. Just a little taste of Harry. He knew he’d be sweet and soft and so, so warm.

Just then, a rusty stray can of red paint rolled off the top shelf and tumbled down, clunking Harry on the head.

“OW! Fuck!” Harry groaned, separating himself from Louis with a pained grimace, rubbing at the top of his head.

“Harry! Oh no. Shit. Let’s….let’s get you some ice.” Louis reached out for Harry, unsure of himself, suddenly unsure of how far he should go, _could_ go with Harry.  He touched Harry’s forearm softly, sliding his hand along Harry’s paint-slick skin until their hands met.  He tangled their fingers together and pulled Harry toward the house, his hand vibrating with the feeling that passed between them when their fingers fell into place together.

Harry gave Louis a lopsided grin and followed him inside the back door, holding his head the whole way. Louis padded over to the freezer, leaving orange footprints in his wake.

“Even your footprints are cute,” Harry remarked.

Louis glanced behind him. “You hit your head harder than I thought.”

Harry inched closer to Louis, leaving just a minute space between them. “I mean it.” His breath felt warm on Louis’ neck. “You’re cute.”

Louis’ hand wrapped around what he was looking for. “Ha ha. Funny boy. Sit down and put this on your head. You’re delirious.” Turning quickly, bag of peas in hand, Louis realized just how close they were standing, the peas crunching between their chests, Louis’ fingers digging into the plastic bag. “Ooof!”

“Steady,” Harry said, his deep voice making Louis shiver, the fact that Harry always seemed to be there to steady Louis was not lost on him.  He felt Harry’s big hands on his shoulders and was so close he could see the way his eyelashes clumped together with orange droplets of paint that made his eyes sparkle like green Christmas lights.

“I…”

“You’re cute,” Harry said again, emphatically, low and deep, his fingers pressing into Louis’ shoulders, sliding down to the center of his back, pulling him closer. The bag crinkled and Louis let it go. It fell to their feet.

“Oh,” Louis breathed. Harry’s chest was firm. And soft. And something else...was _firm_. “Shower! We should shower!”

Harry tilted his head in surprise. Louis rushed to speak, breaking free from Harry’s arms and picking up the peas all at once. “Not together of course. No, no. Just...um. You should get that paint out of your hair.”

Louis turned and walked right back outside, running his hand through his hair, feeling his pulse race. This is a mistake, he thought. Not a good idea. At all.

“I wouldn’t mind…showering together...” Harry’s voice was in Louis’ ear, his hand firmly pressed to the small of Louis’ back.  His warmth in the cool twilight of Louis’ small backyard was solid and tempting, making Louis feel dizzy and restless.

Harry’s hands found their way to Louis’ hips and Louis’ eyes slipped closed. He dropped his head back to Harry’s shoulder and felt the way their breathing synched up. Harry’s chest rose and fell in tandem with his own. He sighed, softly, and wanted nothing more than to just succumb.

Louis’ whole life had been carefully constructed to avoid this very thing. He left LA to get away from the music business; get away from his father. He had never wanted anything to do with musicians, producers or labels. All he ever wanted was to be his own person.

And yet…

With Harry Styles’ hands on his waist and his breathing in his ear and the feeling of his body so close to his own, Louis felt all of his resolve slip away.   

Harry leaned down and kissed Louis’ neck, his lips brushing along the skin softly, making Louis’ heart hammer in his chest.  Harry closed the already miniscule distance between them and pressed up behind him, fitting their bodies together so that there was absolutely no space left.   

“Tell me to stop...if you want me to.”  Harry’s raspy voice made the hair on Louis’ neck stand on edge.  He was...getting really, really hot.

Louis exhaled harshly, tilting his head so that Harry could kiss more skin, more of his neck, granting him permission.  Thankfully, the side Harry was licking, biting and sucking on was not covered in paint.  Everything about this moment, Harry’s lips on his skin, Harry’s body on his and the way his cock was filling quickly in his paint splattered pants...everything was driving Louis forward, making him feel powerless, like he had lost all control.  

With a jolt, Louis realized that he wanted this, _wanted_ Harry.  

Harry’s right hand snaked around and pressed flat to his lower belly, narrowly avoiding Louis’ quickly filling cock. His left hand turned Louis slowly, giving him plenty of time to protest. Louis was tired of silently protesting. He was done with waiting for life to come to him. It was time for him to do something that he wanted for a change, and do it without thinking. Just _feel_.

Louis let himself be maneuvered and looked up into Harry’s deep green eyes, hooded with lust.  Louis dragged his hands up from Harry’s elbows, over his muscled biceps and across his broad shoulders.  

“Shit.” Louis muttered, knowing this was it.  There was no going back.

Louis’ hands were in Harry’s tangled, paint-matted hair within seconds. His mouth was open to Harry’s at first touch and his body was thrumming with energy as he pressed their chests and hips together with fevered intensity. Harry moaned in surprise, but caught up quickly.

Harry’s tongue slid in alongside Louis’ and was like coming home after a long day. Their lips moved together immediately, the tilt of each other’s head perfectly accommodating.

“God you taste so good,” Louis murmured against Harry’s lips. Because he did. Like the lattes they’d had earlier and the peppermint gum he was always chewing. And like something else; something familiar and welcoming. _Addictive_.

Harry’s only response was a groan and to pick Louis up by his ass and knead at the muscle beneath his thin swim trunks. “Shower,” he growled. Louis felt a thrill race up his spine as Harry jostled him so that his only choice was to hang on.

Attaching his mouth to Harry’s neck, kissing the long, elegant column of sensitive skin, Louis hooked his ankles around Harry’s waist and hoisted himself higher. Harry started walking toward the outdoor shower between the hot tub and the studio. Louis bit into the space where Harry’s neck sloped gracefully toward his shoulder, earning him a low drawn out, “Fuck.”

Harry backed Louis up into the bamboo shower stall and pressed him firmly to the wall. He attacked Louis’ mouth with renewed fervor. “Wanted to do this since the moment I saw you.”

Louis rocked down onto Harry’s crotch, feeling his bulge spread his cheeks apart through the layers of clothing. “Want you so bad…” he responded, breathless, desperate.

Harry put Louis down and twisted the faucet that was to his left. Cold water doused them immediately. Louis shrieked, but muffled the sound by biting down on Harry’s shoulder again. Harry used it as an opportunity to cover Louis with his body, plastering himself against him so he could rut their clothed cocks together at a slow grinding pace.

“Cold shower,” Louis panted, “might slow things down….”

Harry licked Louis’ neck and ran his tongue around the shell of Louis’ ear. Louis bucked up and felt Harry push down at the same moment, driving a long drawn out moan from deep in Louis’ chest. “Not likely.” Harry said teasingly, pressing his hand to Louis’ erection.

Louis saw stars.

Harry’s mouth found his again and they kissed frantically. Louis somehow knew that kissing Harry would be like this, but he was no less surprised. After all these weeks of fantasizing about Harry’s mouth and hands and long, lean body, Louis just knew that it was about to be better than he’d ever imagined.

The water started to feel warmer and Louis took it as an opportunity to peel Harry’s t-shirt off of him. “Off,” he said between kisses, dropping the wet fabric to the wood slatted floor. Water sluiced off of Harry’s broad shoulders, reminding Louis of how, the other day, while they were paddling back to shore, he had noticed the same thing and wanted to feel the weight of those shoulders on his body, feel himself pushed into a mattress and driven crazy with lust. Or this shower stall. Either was fine really.

Harry discarded Louis’ shirt and shorts, leaving him completely naked in the slowly warming water. Roughly, Louis pushed Harry off of him. “Take those off,” he ordered, gesturing at Harry’s skin tight, now wet — merciful Lord — jeans.

Harry smirked and started undoing his fly. He was going painfully slow. Louis thought he might pass out from how hard his dick was suddenly. Watching Harry’s fingers manipulate the zipper was maddening.

“Today Harry. _Today_ ,” Louis groaned impatiently.

Harry, cheeky bastard that he was, turned around and peeled off his pants leisurely, bending at the waist so that his ass was bared to Louis right at crotch level. Louis grabbed at his dick to keep from shooting off right there. Harry’s ass was small and round and muscular and was quite possibly the most stimulating thing Louis had seen in a long time.

It had been a really, really long time since Louis had gotten off with anyone else. A really long time.

Louis took Harry’s presentation as an invitation. Gripping Harry’s slender hips, digging his fingers into the perfect handful of flesh there, Louis pulled him backward so that he could push his cock between Harry’s cheeks.  Harry groaned and let Louis pull him backward, gripping his ankles once Louis got him into the position he wanted.  Louis could feel the heat of Harry’s ass surrounding his dick.  He thrust up experimentally, gripping Harry’s perfectly round smooth hips. Louis saw the muscles in Harry’s back constrict and heard the way his breathing grew harsh.

“Fuck yes…” Harry moaned.

Louis pulled Harry back to his cock, thrusting between Harry’s cheeks, not quite seeing, but feeling the perfect heat of him surrounding his cock.  If humping Harry like this, without penetration, felt this perfect, Louis could only imagine what kind of ecstasy would come from pushing inside Harry’s tight body, feeling Harry’s hole open to him and constrict around him and…

“God. You’re so pretty, Harry...I…”

Louis was overwhelmed. He was torn between wanting to fuck the life out of Harry and crawl all over him and kiss him and learn every single inch of his body for days. Cherish him. Revere his perfect smooth skin, lick over every tattoo and muscle and find pleasure in pleasing him in unending ways. This felt like it should be so much more than just fucking. It felt like it was _discovery_.

Harry rolled up and turned in Louis’ arms. “You’re cute,” he said, again, caging Louis in between his arms, leaning down so that he could press their lips together.

“You might have said…”  Louis murmured between kisses.

“Hm,” was all Harry said in reply. He pushed Louis’ hair off of his face and stared intently into his eyes. “This isn’t just a physical thing for me, Louis.”  The mood went from hot and frenzied to intimate and deep in milliseconds.

Louis was startled at the admission. Only because he had just been thinking something similar. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Harry slid his hands down Louis’ sides and fit them into the small of Louis’ back, fingertips creeping lower and lower toward his bare bum. “It’s more. So much more.”

Louis blinked and felt the words catch in his throat. He wanted it to be more. Needed it to be more. “Ok,” was all he could say. Harry watched him carefully, water running clear over his forehead and down his nose, a few crystalline drops beading up on his full bottom lip.

Christ he was beautiful.

“Yeah. For me too,” Louis finally said, chest heaving a bit at the admission, feeling small and vulnerable but brave at the same time. Wanting to risk something, maybe all of it. For Harry.

Harry grinned and leaned in to kiss Louis again. This time the kiss was slower, more sensual, the need still there, just under the surface, but the feeling of permanence, understanding, wonder...all taking precedence to the burning need itching beneath Louis’ skin.

Louis felt Harry cup his ass, grabbing firm handfuls so that Louis could finally feel all of Harry against him, every inch of soft, hot skin connecting with his own. It felt surreal, almost like floating on feathery, cottony clouds, every nerve ending on alert, every single part of his body waiting.

“I...can we…” Louis mouth felt thick, his lips already swollen from kissing Harry and his tongue still wanting more of that heavenly flavor that was Harry.

“Anything babe. What do you need?” Harry’s voice was husky, deeper than usual, and the sound of it pulled at Louis’ groin.

“Fuck. I need you on a bed. In _my_ bed,” Louis whined, arching up into Harry as he dug his fingers into the cleft of Louis’ ass. He wanted to feel those long fingers moving inside him.

Harry gripped Louis’ head firmly with one hand and reached over to turn off the water with the other. They were kissing again, scorching and sloppy, full of desire and need. Harry’s other hand was on Louis’ hip and, then, wrapping around his cock and jerking him off with smooth long glides. Louis jerked with a start, the feeling of Harry’s warm, insistent hand such a surprise to him.

“H — Harry! I…” And then he was coming. Hot and unyielding, long stripes of come shooting between them as he shuddered, open mouthed and crying out into the late afternoon heat.

Harry sucked at a spot behind Louis’ ear and worked him through his release. His hand was steady and sure and felt so blindingly good Louis could barely feel his toes. He felt his hips lock up as Harry kept working him over, his big calloused palm rough but gentle on his still rigid cock.

It felt so good. So fucking good.

“Oh god, Harry, _god_.” Louis whined as the last of his orgasm ripped through him, a wave of unfortunate embarrassment washing over him at how fast he came. The feeling of humiliation fading quickly as euphoria took over.

Harry pressed kisses over Louis’ cheeks and forehead as Louis slumped against him, hanging on to Harry’s shoulders for support. Harry kissed Louis’ mouth softly, sucking his bottom lip into his own mouth and rolling his tongue inside. Louis kissed Harry back, thanking him with licks and moans and fingers tangled in his wet hair. The stood like that for a long moment, catching their breath, Louis feeling oddly exhilarated and still turned on, despite the amazing orgasm he’d just achieved.

Harry broke the kiss and whispered, “Take me to bed.”

Louis looked up at him and saw such fierce desire burning in Harry’s eyes that he couldn’t even respond. So many words were lodged in his throat. He wanted to thank Harry, wanted to tell him how much he thought he could come to mean to him, how much he wanted him...wanted to ask him how he was even real, he was so perfect. But all he could do was stare, and nod his head, “Yeah, yeah.”

After a quick rinse in the shower — thankfully the water still ran warm — the two of them made their way inside Louis’ small house. Louis led Harry into the bedroom and noticed that the shadows were long inside the room, telling him it was nearing sunset. He’d spent another whole day with Harry and barely noticed the time flying by.

Harry pulled Louis down on top of him, scratching his blunt nails down Louis’ back. They fell together, kissing each other over and over again, Louis never tiring of the way it felt, how Harry tasted. Made him feel.

He was throbbing with electric energy. So completely alive right now, in this moment.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt like this. He’d had glimmers of it over the years, usually while cresting a wave or watching the ocean cover him inside a monster cave. It was like this kind of otherworldly calm inside the eye of a storm.

That’s how he felt when he was with Harry. Removed from everything else, all the noise around them. So that it was just the two of them.

Louis felt a growing wetness between them and realized that Harry’s cock was leaking steadily. He had been so patient while getting Louis off, ignoring his own needs. Louis sat up so that he could straddle Harry’s hips, his cock neatly slipping between Louis’ wet cheeks.

“Nnghh...Lou — _Louis_.” Harry moaned, arching his back, thrusting his hips into Louis’ body helplessly.

Louis shushed him and ran his hands over Harry’s chest, stopping to roll his erect nipples between his fingers. Harry whined and wriggled around underneath him. “What do you want, Harry? What do you like?” Louis asked quietly, like it was a secret.

Harry moaned, “Anything. Anything Louis. Just…” His cheeks were flushed and damp strands of his hair were stuck to the skin around his neck, curling toward his collarbones. “ _Please_.” He was grinding his hips upward into Louis’ body rhythmically, his thick cock teasing Louis deliciously, making Louis crave it.

Louis wanted Harry to fuck him, but there was still something small and tiny inside him holding him back. He leaned over to kiss Harry, his body restless, unable to sit still. “Can I suck you?” Louis whispered against Harry’s jawline.

“God, please. Want you to...want your mouth, Louis. Please.” Desperate need laced Harry’s voice as Louis was already moving down his body. He licked and kissed his way across Harry’s chest, nibbling on his nipples and biting at the soft skin just under his pecs. He sucked a mark into his stomach just alongside his belly button, moving down, down, down, until he was finally face to, er, dick with Harry’s cock.

Harry was big. Long and thick. Louis hadn’t seen another cock in a while, besides Niall’s — which didn’t count because Niall was an exhibitionist — and what he saw in front of him was incredible. “ _Harry_.” Louis sighed as he gripped Harry loosely. Harry’s cock jerked from the sensation as he cried out.

Louis looked up at Harry, running his nose up Harry’s length. Harry stared at him from under his lashes, mouth hanging open, breath coming fast. They locked eyes as Louis’ tongue darted out and ran over the head. Harry moaned, loud and deep, shivering from his core out. His entire body shook. Harry’s sex face and sex noises were enough to drive a spontaneous orgasm from even the strongest man, Louis thought with a smirk.

Enough with the teasing. He had to see if the rest of Harry tasted as good as his mouth.

The first taste was like a drug. Louis hollowed his cheeks and took the head in first, sucking at it softly, licking over the slit. Harry’s come was salty sweet and Louis wanted more. He wanted to drive Harry crazy. Wanted to make him come and go weak from his mouth and his mouth alone. He licked out all over Harry’s dick, making it wet and sloppy with spit. He started moving his hand slowly up and down the shaft, pulling tortured sounds from the back of Harry’s throat, while his mouth suckled at the head. Harry’s hand came to rest at the back of Louis’ neck, gentle and firm, not pushing but keeping him in place.

Louis felt a hot zing of forbidden pleasure at the idea of Harry fucking his mouth. God, he wanted that. He wanted Harry to use him, to fuck him relentlessly and make him weak with overuse. He wanted so much with Harry. Everything.

Harry started pulsing his hips up, almost like he couldn’t help himself. Louis pushed himself down further, taking more of Harry into his mouth and throat with each slide. His hand movements grew faster and his sucking louder. Harry was moaning constantly now, his head thrown back, eyes shut tight.

He was a fucking dream come true.

Louis threw himself into it. He wanted Harry to feel good. He wanted to be the one to make Harry completely lose it.

He was now taking more of Harry into his throat than his hand. He hummed in time to his movements, letting himself groan when Harry’s cock hit the back of his throat and slipped inside minisculey. There was something about being stuffed with Harry’s thick cock that was driving Louis mad with desire. He shuddered at the thought of being speared by him, feeling split in two while Harry pushed him into the pillows and fucked him hard.

Harry’s hand gripped Louis’ neck harshly now, so hard that Louis was sure he would leave marks. Louis’ hips were grinding down into the mattress and he could feel another orgasm building at the base of his spine. He pushed himself as far down as he could go and just… swallowed. He felt his throat protest and flutter around Harry’s head.

And Harry lost it.

Hot and hard, he pulsed down Louis throat. He held Louis firm and Louis just...took it. Harry yelled out something unintelligible followed by “Fucking Christ, yes!” and Louis swallowed what he could and sputtered the rest of it out his open mouth, his throat feeling sore and used but so, so good. While Harry loosened his grip and Louis was able to move again, he closed his mouth and made a tight seal as his slid up and down Harry’s cock, feeling Harry grind up into it with these tiny little movements as he rode out his high.

Then, with just two blindingly good thrusts into the sheets below, Louis was coming for the second time in less than an hour. His body felt spent as he soaked the bedding and he grunted with his lips still around Harry’s still twitching cock.

As Harry’s softening dick slipped out of his mouth and the boy beneath him shuddered. “Louis, god...that was…”

Louis squeezed Harry’s hip and croaked out, “I know.” His voice was shot but it had been worth it to hear Harry, see Harry completely lost like that.

He crawled up Harry’s body, noticing how Harry was still breathing hard, his rosy nipples rising and falling with each harsh intake of air. Louis wiped his face with his hand and gave Harry a sheepish smile, the smell of Harry’s come still fresh, covering his lips, mouth and face. Harry pulled him on top of him and grabbed a hold of his face and brought their mouths together. Louis went to protest, but Harry just surged up and kissed him, fierce and scorching. Their tongues tangled and the taste of Harry spread between them. Louis could feel Harry breathing under him, could feel his arms around him and could hear the sound of his own heart hammering in his ears.

As they continued to kiss sleepily, ignoring all of the fluids and the stickiness and the cooling sweat, Louis thought to himself, this could be all he might ever need.

****

A desperate thirst woke Louis some hours later. The house was dark and Louis was disoriented when he first felt the sweaty body underneath him but in a few seconds he realized it was Harry and the memory of what had happened slammed into him like a freight truck. His pulse started to race and he got a little lightheaded.

It had been so good.

And it had been so long.

Louis stretched out, peeling away from the firm body in his bed. He felt a delicious tiredness in his body that came from the release of endorphins and an excruciating tightening of muscles from coming so hard twice in a row. As he slipped out of his bed to go get some water from the kitchen, he felt a familiar pull in his groin at just the memory of Harry’s mouth, Harry’s hands, his cock...Oh god, his _cock_. He was going to need to have that inside him. Soon.

He pulled on a pair of shorts from the floor and ambled into the kitchen, careful to pull the door closed behind him.

Louis smiled to himself and ran a hand through his sleep-mussed hair. Moonlight streamed through the kitchen window, lighting his path to the refrigerator. He saw the abandoned bag of peas on the floor, a little puddle of condensation spreading out beneath it. He scooped it up and chucked it in the freezer. He shivered at the cold air covering his bare skin and quickly shut it, opening the refrigerator instead. He reached in and pulled out a bottle of water and quickly drank half of the bottle in front of the open door.

Closing the door behind him, Louis leaned up against the sink, still replaying the events from the evening in his mind. Harry was almost too good to be true. From the very start, Louis had been captivated by him. And now, now that he’d gotten to know him better, he was quickly becoming something Louis felt he needed, wanted, to be in his life. It made him feel excited for the future.

A muffled ding brought Louis out of his thoughts. He searched the kitchen for the source of the noise. He heard it again and traced it to Harry’s cell phone underneath a dish towel on the counter. It was next to a stark orange handprint, probably left behind during their paint incident from earlier. Still smiling, Louis reached for it and saw a series of texts illuminated on the screen.

He probably should just ignore it. Leave it there. Go back to bed. Cuddle up to Harry and plan breakfast for the morning.

But he couldn’t. Because now that he’d seen it, caught a glimpse of who one of the messages was from, he had to look at it.

Anna: Harry, please call ASAP.

A second message, also from Anna: Harry. Chase needs to talk to you. Now.

A third: Harry, report in. I need to know how it’s going.

The last message was from a number Louis recognized. He never called it. But he knew it, nonetheless. It was his father.

What did his father need Harry to “report in” on? What the fuck was going on?

What did it all mean? And why hadn’t Harry mentioned any of this?

Louis opened up the messenger. Of course Harry didn’t have a password. Open, honest, trusting Harry. At least that’s what he thought Harry was. He scrolled back over the past month’s worth of texts from Anna.

They all had to do with Harry’s trip to Central California. To Big Sur. To Louis.

_“Chase wants you to check in every two days or so”_

_“Chase says to make sure Louis doesn’t know”_

_“Your bank account should reflect your payment for the trip to Big Sur”_

_“The terms are that you will receive two payments, one for your travel expenses and one for the completed job”_

And the final text, the one that made Louis turn and vomit in the sink, was from his father:

_“I’m counting on you Harry. Don’t let me down.”_


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

The California coastline was ruggedly beautiful. Jagged rocks that lined the shore and jutted out into the night sky, contrasted against the foamy whitecaps of the waves and the starlit night…it was simply one of the most beautiful places Louis had ever seen. It was dark and foreboding but oddly peaceful, with the shadowy sea grass sending raspy lullabies into the darkness. Granted, he hadn’t been to too many places, but he’d been to Paris once with his grandmother and New York City and once to Chicago. And he went to college in Oregon…

But California was home. Always had been, always would be.

Strangely, tonight, sitting on the hood of his jeep looking out into the glittery black ocean, Louis felt more adrift than ever. He didn’t feel like he really had a home right now. He felt lost, unmoored somehow.

Despite all his efforts to detach himself from Chase, to put some space between them, physically and metaphorically, he still had a hold on him. This time, it was through Harry.

After the sickness in his stomach passed and the anger left behind only whitewashed fatigue, Louis had found himself thinking that he had been such a fool to believe that Harry had actually been interested in him. Of course there was more to it. His father had planted Harry in his life for some nefarious purpose. Of course he had. Why else would someone like Harry Styles have approached him at the gala? Everything Louis knew about famous Hollywood type musicians, especially ones as good looking as Harry, was that they only did things that served them. Everything, everyone, was another rung on the golden ladder that led upwards.

His stomach turned again.

How had he been so vulnerable? He never let his guard down. Even with Niall, it took months before he’d even talk to him about much more than the weather or the status of the surf. And even then the first real thing he’d shared was how much he loved to surf—and not the fact that surfing saved his life, saved him from letting himself be pulled under by the isolation and hurt that his father ignoring him had made him feel all those years.

And now Harry. Louis realized that he hadn’t exactly shared with Harry his deepest thoughts and secrets. No, it was different. He shared _himself_ with him. And when he did that he gave away something. Something he’d kept locked away for so long. With Harry everything had been different. Sex had been different. Touching, kissing had been different. It was raw emotion. He felt what he wanted to say with every look, every tremor that passed from his body to Harry’s.

Wiping a hand over his face, Louis watched the way the sky was starting to shimmer golden around the edges like a golden butter cake pulling away from the edges of a pan. It was delicate. Almost fragile. Night giving way to day, the world waking up with each molecule of light that eclipsed the dark. Everything felt upside down to Louis, backwards somehow. And it just made him tired. And confused.

_…I’m counting on you…_

_…don’t let me down…_

What had his father meant? What was Harry supposed to be doing for Chase? _With_ Louis?

And again, Louis felt fury rise up in his chest. Goddamn it. His father. He just couldn’t leave Louis alone. He had to make sure that not only did Louis feel inferior in every way, a pale representation of what his father had hoped for him, but he also had to make sure that he stole all of Louis’ joy from afar. It wasn’t enough that Louis’ past was tainted with all of the misgivings and pain caused by his father, now his future was being spoiled too.

And Louis wouldn’t stand for it.

Climbing back in his car, Louis set his jaw and cranked the jeep back to life. Harry was going to have a lot of explaining to do.

And then he was going to get the fuck out of Louis’ life.

****

Louis watched Harry stand up from the Adirondack on his front porch like he was watching a dream. Harry’s legs were comically long and seemed incapable of moving in coordination with each other. But they did and they were smooth and shapely and looked almost unreal to Louis as he remembered what they felt like underneath him, all around him.

Damnit.

He had almost been dragged into the Harry spell again. Fuck. He’d have to be more cautious.

As he stormed out of his jeep and crossed the drive to the front of his shop, Harry walked toward him. He was smiling. Of course he was smiling—like a fucking solar flare he was with that face of his.

“Thought maybe you’d gone for breakfast. Were they out of coffee?” Harry teased, reaching out to squeeze the soft flesh of Louis’ hip, the heat of his hand almost searing his bare skin, when Louis pulled away. “What? Louis—what’s wrong?”

Harry’s brow furrowed, a deep-set line pushing his brows down over his clear green eyes. He bit his lip and twisted his hands, the one that had been reaching for Louis worrying over the other. “Louis?”

Louis glared at him, putting another few inches between them. “What did my father send you here for?”

Harry’s mouth dropped open and his eyes went wide. “What? I — I don’t know…”

“Drop the bullshit, Harry. I saw the texts.”

Harry’s cheeks pinked and he stepped forward. “Louis, please. Let me — I know how it looks. I just…”

“What did my father send you here for?” Louis repeated, this time slower and angrier.

“Can we…?” Harry gestured toward the chairs.

“Fuck no. We can’t. Was any of it real?” Louis’ voice rose as he stepped closer, his toes almost touching Harry. He could smell sex and cinnamon.

“Of course it was.” Harry said quietly.

“Really? Because apparently my father paid for you to come here.” Louis spat. “Did he pay you to sleep with me too?”

Harry looked like he’d been slapped in the face. “What? No. God, no. Louis…”

Louis glared at Harry. “Go,” he gritted out.

“Louis…just let me explain. I meant it…everything. I…”

All Louis could do was shut his eyes, try to push away the memory of Harry’s lips on his, the way their skin felt when they were pressed together, so close Louis could hardly see straight. “Just go, Harry,” he sighed, “please.”

Harry looked like he wanted to say something else, his face drawn and lips parted. He paused and then turned on his heel, scooping up his phone and boots from the patio. Louis went into the shop so he didn’t have to see him walk away. He was too afraid he’d tell him to stop. And he knew that if he did that his father would win.

****

“Uh. Yeah. I can.”

“Uh. No. You can’t.”

“I can.”

“You can’t”

“Can.”

“Can’t.”

“Fuck you.”

Niall stared at Louis. Louis stared at Niall. Louis shook his head and looked away first. He lost. Resorting to “fuck you” was automatic losing. Everyone knew that. Well….not everyone. But Louis did. He wasn’t winning this argument with Niall. Not this time.

“All I’m saying, Lou, is that you can’t avoid him forever. He’s just sitting at the bar every night staring at the door.” Niall made a moon-eyed face. “Like staring at the door will make you magically appear.”

“I couldn't care less what he does every night,” Louis retorted, maybe a bit too quickly. Because, ok, yeah, he did care what Harry did. Way too fucking much. He couldn’t _stop_ caring about what Harry did. Or what Harry didn’t do. Because he’d gotten under his skin and getting rid of all the traces he left behind was like purging some kind of spirit.

“Yes you do.” Niall said back.

“No I don’t.”

“You do.”

“Fuck you.”

Niall smirked.

The two of them were quiet, the ocean lapping at their feet while their boards dried in the sun alongside them. The last time Louis was out in the surf was with Harry. Harry. How could someone he hardly know have taken up so many spaces in his life?

“But you can’t,” Niall said after a long moment.

Louis kicked him.

Later, when he was sanding down a raw piece of balsa for a new commission, Louis thought about what Niall said. It had been almost a week since Louis had confronted Harry and Harry hadn’t come back. But he was still here, still in Big Sur. If Louis’ dad had sent him with a specific mission in mind and the mission didn’t go according to plan, why was he still here?

Louis sat down on the edge of the hot tub. He’d moved the materials and board outside of the shed since the night was so mild. The orange board had been staring at him in the shed anyway, reminding him of that night. He had to special order some decals that the surfer wanted and was waiting for those to come in before he could finish it. It was an obnoxious reminder of that night that had almost changed everything.

Niall had said that all Harry had done was mope around the bar, even offering to help with selling bait on Sunday morning. But he never strayed far. Niall said it was because he was hoping Louis would come around. Louis said it was because he was afraid to go home and tell Chase that he’d failed.

All that had gotten him was a sad look from Niall.

Louis rolled his neck, trying to release some of the tension that had set up home in his shoulders. Fuck it. He pulled out his phone from his pocket. After texting Harry a simple “ _let’s talk_ ” he went back to work.

****

He had just sunk into the almost scalding water of the hot tub when he heard the gate open behind the shed. Louis opened his eyes and stared up at the smattering of stars that shone down on the water.

“Louis?” Harry’s voice was low and deep, cautious.

Louis cleared his throat and called out, “Back here.”

Louis watched as Harry came into view, partially submerged in shadows. His white t-shirt glowed in the darkness and Louis could see the nervousness in his eyes, his movements. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Harry fidgeted at the side of the hot tub and watched Louis warily.

Louis sat up a bit and pushed his damp hair off of his flushed face. “Needed a soak after I worked on a board…” he said, “I’ll get out and we can talk.” He started to push up so he could stand but was stopped by Harry’s hand on his chest.

“I’ll…um…I’ll join you.” Harry pulled his hand away, as if Louis’ skin was too hot to touch. “If that’s ok.”

Louis sunk back down, the hot water stinging his exposed shoulders. He had decided to not run the jets because he wanted quiet. Louis squirmed a little, already feeling raw and exposed, partially clothed in the clear water of the tub. “Yeah. Ok.”

Harry toed his boots off and sheepishly pulled off his t-shirt. Then, he peeled his skintight black jeans down his legs, wriggling his legs and hips to get them off, leaving him in just his underwear. He glanced at Louis and looked away quickly, rolling his hair up into a bun, a few soft looking tendrils falling out immediately.

Hissing as he dropped slowly inside the tub, across from Louis, Harry eased himself into the still water. “Ah…” he sighed appreciatively, eyes dropping closed.

Louis forgot for a moment why he had texted Harry. He was entranced. Again. Harry’s skin glowed against the darkness surrounding the hot tub, the only light in Louis’ yard the moon and stars and soft glow of the hot tub lights. He could make out the rosy shadows of his nipples and the tattoos over his chest and arms were like a road map that Louis wanted to explore. Hearing the deep, husky tone of Harry’s voice was an elixir, pulling Louis down, deeper into the velvety richness of it, of him. Louis watched Harry’s eyes blink open and he waited. He wasn’t sure where to start. He just knew he needed — wanted — answers.

Harry bit his lip and ran his large hands over the top of the water. The ripples brought the water up higher on Louis’ chest, tickling at his neck and chin. “I guess I owe you an explanation,” Harry began.

“Yeah. You do,” Louis said simply.

Harry swallowed and tilted his head. “It’s nothing like what you think.”

“Try me.” Louis shifted so that he was sitting more upright. Harry’s face was half in shadow and Louis could see how wide his eyes were and how he almost looked younger in some way? More childlike.

“So…I’ve known your dad a few years now.”

Louis nodded along and leaned forward.

“And like, he’s always talked about you.”

Louis laughed out loud. “No really, Louis. He loves you. Like a lot.” Harry’s voice was so sincere, so deeply honest, Louis’ head snapped up to look at him.

“You don’t know anything about him. About us,” Louis bit out, turning his head away and fighting the urge to get out and run.

“But I do. Because he talks to me. A lot. He misses you, Louis. So much.” Harry’s face looked sad and Louis couldn’t be sure but it looked like his eyes were glistening.

Louis exhaled, anger bristling up from the base of his spine. “Honestly, Harry, I don’t know what this is about but I don’t think it’s funny at all. I’m not sure what you and my father think you’ll gain from this but,” Louis’ voice was rising, “I’m not going t — I don’t understand what you are getting from this? Help me understand Harry, because, I…” Louis’ voice cracked and he threw his hands up in the air and started to get up, eager to get away from Harry and his lies. His father was really too much.

Harry surged forward, grabbing Louis’ arm forcefully. Louis tried to jerk away but Harry’s grip was too strong. They were both standing now, in the middle of the hot tub, face to face. Louis was breathing hard, but not from anger or frustration. He was getting turned on. Harry jerked Louis forward so that their chests bumped.

“H—Harry,” Louis warned.

“You need to listen to me.” Harry breathed against Louis’ lips.

“Harry,” Louis whined. Harry’s body pressed up against his, the heat from the water rising in misty wisps all around them.

Harry groaned and wrapped his free hand around Louis’ hip, sliding it around to the small of his back. He pulled Louis to him roughly, the smaller man grunting as their hips collided. “Why won’t you fucking listen to me?” Harry growled.

“Fuck.” Louis whispered.

                                                                                                

And then they were kissing.

Hot and insistent, Harry’s tongue pushed its way into Louis’ mouth. Louis moaned around it and pushed back. Their mouths moved against one another in a frantic tangle of heat and desire. All Louis could think was “want, want, want”.

Harry grabbed at Louis’ bum, squeezing and kneading and pulling a series of long whines from the back of Louis’ throat. “Fuck. Harry.” Louis pulled at Harry’s hair, disentangling his bun so that he could wrap his fingers around the thick, wavy strands.

Harry answered with a fevered grind of his hips against Louis’, his breath in Louis’ ear shaky and wild. “Want you,” he said, pulling Louis impossibly close to his body.

Louis pulled Harry’s mouth back to his, licking inside and taking control of the kiss. Harry tasted like apology and heat and endless tomorrows. Louis didn’t want to think about what any of it meant, too lost in the moment. Harry moved their hips together, grinding increasingly faster and harder, filthier. Louis kept their mouths locked together. The water splashed around them and it became hotter, almost too hot.

Louis broke away from the kiss with a wet slurp, traveling across Harry’s strong jaw, licking and biting with his sharp teeth. A deep moan tumbled from Harry’s upturned mouth. Louis was completely drowning in desire, hot fiery need burning inside him as he felt Harry’s body rocking into him. Without thinking, just feeling, Louis whined, “Fuck me, _please_ Harry. Fuck me.”

Harry didn’t hesitate. He pulled Louis with him toward the edge of the hot tub and practically tumbled out with him in tow. Louis didn’t want to think about anything else but getting Harry in his bed.  He didn’t want to think about what Harry meant to Chase or what Harry knew or didn’t know.  He didn’t want to worry about anything.  Not now.  Not when he wanted Harry so desperately, so completely that he couldn’t think about anything else.  

Louis led him inside, the two of them not caring if they were dripping wet or in danger of slipping, their mouths and hands never leaving each other. Louis pulled Harry toward his bed without regard for how fast this was moving or what he was going to do after. He just wanted Harry inside him. Now.

He wanted to forget.  All he wanted to remember was the feeling of Harry, not just the memory, but the actual feeling right here, right now.  

Harry pushed Louis down on the bed and flipped him over quickly, yanking his wet shorts down over his ass so that his cheeks bounced; the movement quick and harsh. Louis gasped at the sudden exposure, shuddering as he felt Harry’s big hands grab firm handfuls of his flesh.

“Fuck. Gonna wreck you,” Harry promised. He sounded dangerously close to coming, voice gravelly and deep with a shakiness in it that Louis could only understand at some baser, more primal level.

“Lube. L—lube,” Louis panted. He was rutting up against the mattress, already so far gone.

Wriggling his shorts the rest of the way off, Louis crawled up the bed, still face down. He could hear Harry rummaging around in the bedside drawer. Then he heard the wet slap of Harry’s underwear hitting the floor. He rutted up and down experimentally, whining at the sensation. He arched his back and spread his legs so that Harry could fit neatly behind him.

“God. Louis,” Harry whispered, “So fucking beautiful.”

Louis spread his cheeks with his hands, hoping Harry would be inspired to move a little more quickly. He heard Harry draw a sharp breath followed by the click of the lube bottle opening. Within seconds Harry’s finger was running over his entrance, making him push back on it, his entire body on alert, needing more, _demanding_ more.

Harry’s finger slid inside Louis’ body making him moan at the feeling. God, if felt so good. Harry’s long, thick finger was filling him exactly as he hoped, needed. Quickly, Harry moved in and out, circling, gently feeling around inside Louis’ tight heat. Louis was pushing back fluidly, silently mouthing at the pillow beneath him. “Nnggh. H-Harry. I…”

Harry used that moment to add another finger. He twisted and turned his fingers, stretching Louis with a blinding toe-curling pressure. “ _Harry_!” Louis shouted when Harry bumped his prostate.

Harry bit down on the back of Louis’ hip and laughed, low and throaty. “Hm. You sound so good, Louis. Wanna fuck you. Make you scream. Need to feel you. Want you. God, you’re so fucking gorgeous,” he babbled, searching for Louis’ spot. He chanced upon it again, making Louis shout out.

Harry curled his fingers in again and again, making Louis keen, “God Harry. God. God. My _God_ .” All Louis’ incantations did was spur Harry on, making him add a third finger and fuck inside him faster, harder. “Yes, _please_. Please.”

Harry pulled his fingers out suddenly, making Louis’ hips stutter. He looked over his shoulder, surprised to see how flush and eager Harry looked. He knew he was lost in the moment, in the feeling of chasing this unending pleasure, but seeing that same raw desire on Harry was like a religious experience. It was _awe_ inspiring. Harry trembled as he coated his condom-covered cock in lube with shaky hands.

“Louis…”

Louis shook his head. “Don’t.”

Harry stared at him, blinking back tears. “I—I need…”

“Please. Harry. Just…let’s just forget.” Louis' voice was raw and loose, the shaky plea enough to make Harry agree.

“Yeah. Yeah,” Harry murmured, grabbing for Louis’ hips with skilled, strong hands, pulling him back toward him so that his thick cock rubbed against Louis’ hole.

Louis sucked in a breath before exhaling on a moan and dropped back to the pillow, pressing his forehead down so he could see his own straining cock. He reached between his legs and fisted himself loosely, arching his back in invitation. The pressure of Harry’s cock head at his entrance was maddening. Louis pushed back as Harry pushed forward, the head popping inside. “Fucking _God_ ,” Louis moaned just as Harry slid the rest of the way inside his waiting body slowly, so, so slowly. It made Louis see stars, it felt so _good_.

He felt so full and complete and absolutely stretched beyond imagination. And it felt so good. So fucking _good_ to be filled by Harry. All he could feel was relief and need and staggering perfection.

“Oh. Fuck. Fuck. Harry.” Louis stuttered, feeling pre-come wet his hand as he started to jack himself off in the exact rhythm he liked.

Harry groaned, deep and guttural, and ground inside Louis’ body, a rich delicious feeling of totality and pleasure that stole Louis’ breath. Harry started to move in short smooth strokes, barely pulling back at all so that all he was doing really was grinding deeper and deeper inside Louis’ body. Louis could feel Harry’s dick against his prostate and it made him breathless and unhinged. “Please Harry. Please…” he moaned.

Harry started moving faster, fucking these breathless ah-ah-ahs from Louis’s chest as their skin started slapping together, punctuating each movement in the small dark room. Harry stayed deep but made sure his thrusts were hard and fast. Louis pushed back with each drive forward, making Harry grunt every time their bodies collided.

“Are you—are you close?” Louis gritted out, holding the base of his dick so he wouldn’t come too soon.

Harry pulled out and pounded back into him, reckless now, pushing Louis up the bed with each forceful thrust. In and out, out and in, holding fast to Louis’ body as he used him for his pleasure. “Y...y—yes” and then he was coming. Hot and hard, deep inside Louis’ body.

Still buried in Louis’ ass, Harry pulled Louis up with one arm so that Louis was fully seated on his cock, the back of his thighs pressed to the tops of Harry’s, their skin slick with sweat and leftover chlorinated water. Harry replaced Louis’ hand on his dick and started sliding up and down, up and down, faster and faster, thrusting up inside Louis, grinding at every pass until Louis was shouting and coming all over Harry’s fist.

“Oh fuck. Fuck. _Fuck_ ,” Louis muttered, over and over again, as he rode out his orgasm, rolling his hips and circling his body over Harry’s lap, clenching around Harry’s softening cock. Harry pressed his face to Louis’ neck, whining as Louis brought them both through the powerful aftershocks of their shared release. Harry sucked on Louis’ neck, slowing down his hand until Louis finally stopped moving and slumped forward.

Pulling out, Harry dropped to Louis’ side as the both tried to catch their breath. After a few short moments, Harry tied up the condom and rolled off the bed, heading to the bathroom. He came back a second later with a wet washcloth and offered it to Louis. Louis cleaned himself up and tossed the cloth toward the laundry basket.

With a sickening realization, Louis understood all at once what had just happened. Harry. He and Harry just had sex and somehow his father was involved. He still didn’t know to what extent Chase Tomlinson had his claws in Harry and it made his stomach turn. Louis grappled for the sheet underneath him and wrapped it around himself as he scooted back toward the wall.

“Harry,” Louis’ voice was tired, weary, as he watched Harry watch him curiously.

Harry climbed on to the bed, completely unabashed about his nakedness. Louis had a hard time looking away from his now soft dick—still very impressive even in its current state. “I’m—that was…” Harry tugged at the sheet wrapped tight around Louis’ torso, “You’re _amazing_ ,” he finished, pressing a kiss to Louis’ shoulder.

Louis flushed under the praise. “It was. Good. Really good,” he said, not looking at Harry, instead looking down at his hands lying idle in his lap. “But. We didn’t—I mean. We still need to talk. I just.”

Harry reached out and stilled Louis hands that had begun fidgeting with the sheet. “We do. But. Can we sleep first? I really want to—sleep with you. Just sleep. In your arms.”

Louis looked up sharply and met Harry’s eyes. The bright green penetrated the darkness and made Louis’ heart skip a beat. Something passed between them then, something pure and honest. Louis felt himself nodding, suddenly exhausted and craving the feeling of Harry’s heat seeping into his bones, warming him through the night.

“Yeah. Yeah, ok.”

Laying down and rolling to his side so that Harry could slip into the space behind him, Louis felt relief course through his body. Even if it was just for tonight, having Harry, all of Harry, was something Louis had only let himself dream of before. Just a flash of happiness was more than he ever thought he’d get. And for tonight, it had to be enough.

****

Hours later Louis woke to an empty bed.

He sat up quickly, head reeling from the sudden movement. _Harry_.

He listened and heard only silence. He was pretty sure his house was empty. Louis pulled on a pair of shorts and an Eagles t-shirt and walked quietly into the kitchen. There was a full pot of coffee, which Louis took as a good sign. He poured himself a cup and walked through the shop. He could see Harry sitting on the front porch, his hair blowing lightly in the breeze, the ocean behind him bright cobalt blue and calm.

Christ. Harry was gorgeous. His face was in profile, unlined and relaxed. Louis realized he was holding his breath, just looking at the man outside his modest shop. From the start there was so much to Harry…so much _substance_. It was no wonder he was such a popular entertainer. He had a presence about him that was unmatched by most of his peers. He was beautiful to look at but seemed to have something inside him, something bright and illuminating. It drew people to him, pulled them into his orbit. Louis was no exception.

Clearly this was something Chase Tomlinson had counted on.

Pushing the screen door open, Louis stepped out on to the porch.

Harry looked up at him and gave him an easy smile, but his eyes held a glimmer of trepidation. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Louis sat down in the Adirondack next to him and looked out over the ocean. There was something about the verdant green of the tall beach grass against the almost jewel-toned ocean that gave Louis a great sense of peace. Like the two elements of nature belonged together. As if the contrast between them actually made them complimentary.

Louis blew over the top of his mug, the aromatic scent of dark roast coffee settling over him like a memory. He felt Harry’s eyes on him. He couldn’t look at him. Not just yet. He wanted to preserve this moment in his mind. The moment before he told Harry to really leave. This time for good.

“Louis.” Harry’s slow deep voice was cautious.

Louis rolled his head to the side and inhaled sharply at the sight of Harry’s beautiful face and the way his eyes searched his. It felt like he was looking deep into the core of Louis. It was unnerving. But oddly calming at the same time. Like someone really saw him; knew him for once in his life. Not since his grandmother had he felt that kind of connection with another human being.

“I don’t really think I can do this,” Louis whispered, feeling tears prickle the back of his eyes. He turned away so Harry wouldn’t have to see him fall apart. He couldn’t bear the thought of letting this go. Letting Harry go.

Harry slid from his chair and stood in front of Louis. “Come on.” He held out his hand.

Louis looked up at him in wonder. “Where…?”

Harry just opened his fingers, beckoning Louis forward. Louis stood and let Harry fold his hand inside his larger one. Louis left his cooling coffee on the arm of the chair and walked with Harry across the small road toward the sea.

Harry led Louis down the path to Louis’ little patch of ocean, the one that always made Louis forget about everything. Made him remember just exactly who he was.

“Tell me about this place,” Harry said.

Louis looked up at Harry, feeling the warmth of his hand in his and the way his strong sturdy presence centered him. “This—this place?”

Harry nodded and looked out over the ocean. Louis followed his gaze and could see the way the sky was starting to fade from bright morning blue to mid-day bleached lilac. A pair of gulls screamed overhead and Louis could see the seal couple frolicking in the surf about twenty yards out. “This place is…sanctuary, I guess,” Louis began.

Harry smiled and pulled Louis closer, dragging him down to the sand so that they could sit next to each other, touching from hip to ankle. Harry held fast to Louis’ hand and waited.

“I feel like myself here I guess,” Louis continued, “like I can just be Louis. No one else. I can be who I’m supposed to be?”

“Hm,” Harry hummed. “How so?”

Louis thought for a moment and smiled softly at the feeling of Harry’s thumb rubbing across the top of his knuckles. It was intimate. “I guess the ocean makes me feel small, fragile somehow. But I feel sort of invincible. Like I’m doing exactly what I’m supposed to be. Sort of…at peace? And, I think that when I’m here, especially out there,” he gestured at the building tide, “I feel like I get stronger, like I gather strength from the water.”

Harry watched him and Louis felt embarrassed. “I don’t know. It’s stupid I guess.”

Harry shook his head firmly. “No. Don’t do that.”

“What?”

“That. Where you act like you don’t matter. You do matter, Louis. More than anything. When I saw you, first saw you, you were the brightest thing in that room. You just. You took over. You take over everything. You’re so important. You matter to a lot of people.”

Harry voice was passionate, his eyes blazing. Louis just looked at him. “What are you getting at Harry?”

“Lou. It’s—it’s your dad.”

Louis felt fear well up inside him. It’s always his dad. “What about him?” He finally asked.

“He’s…” Harry pulled his hand away and turned toward Louis, twisting his body so he was facing Louis. He wrapped his long bare legs around Louis, gently trapping him and commanding his attention. “He’s not well, Lou. He’s…sick.”

Louis stopped thinking. He just looked into Harry’s eyes. Harry’s normally bright green playful eyes were stormy, dark. “You…he’s—what?”

“He’s sick. He’s…” Harry took a deep breath. Exhaled. “He’s dying, Louis.”

Louis felt the world tip sideways. “What? He’s—what?”

Harry placed one of his palms on Louis’ cheek, cradling the side of his face tenderly. “He’s sick, Louis. He doesn’t have much time left. That’s why I…why I’m here.”

Louis shook his head slightly. “What are you? I.”

Harry ran his thumb over Louis’ jawline. “There’s more. But I need to know you are ready to hear it Louis. Ready to listen.”

Louis wriggled out of Harry’s hold and sat up on his knees. He looked out over the water and noticed the way that the bright blue of the water looked greyer, dirty somehow, up close. He’d noticed it before, of course, knew it was like that because of the life brimming below the surface. Shells, seaweed, sand…bacteria, microbes. All sorts of living and dying things churning and storming with each violent pass of the tide.

Harry sat next to Louis, quiet and still. Finally Louis turned back toward him. “Tell me.”

Harry started slowly, at the beginning. He told Louis about how he’d first been “discovered” by Chase. He had uploaded a video to YouTube on a whim—a dare from a friend. Before he knew it he was in a studio, recording his first album, completely swept away by the charm and sway of the Louis’ larger than life father. Louis sneered a bit at Harry’s memory.

“And then, he and I started like, hanging out? Not when I was working. He seemed…I don’t know. Lonely?” Harry ran his fingers through the sand, reminding Louis of one of those sand gardens that psychiatrists always have on their desk. “And, like, he started just talking about the past. About you.”

Louis watched Harry talk, the way his lips moved slowly and deliberately, the way he chose his words carefully. He listened to Harry’s deep tone and the way he enunciated his words clearly and succinctly. “Me?”

“You. That’s—that’s how I first fell…got to know you? It’s how I learned about you,” Harry explained.

“What? What did he say?” Louis wondered.

“All kinds of things. Um…he told me about how curious you were as a boy. How you were really into science in preschool and how you were always staging these experiments? And how your mom doted on you and how much you were like her. He told me how smart you were. How smart you are.”

Louis looked at Harry in disbelief. Surely he wasn’t talking about the same man that Louis had demonized in his mind. “What? He—what?”

Harry nodded his head. “Yeah. Like I said. Little things he told me made me realize how much he missed you. How sorry he was. That things were the way they are, you know?”

Louis did know. He was sorry too. But that was before. Now he just needed to try and forget. He’d been trying to forget that his father didn’t love him enough to want him in his life, that he was sorely disappointed in him, for years.

Harry continued, “He talked about how proud he was of you. How you’d started this business. Followed your dreams. He talked about how you were so independent and how you pushed away from him. How sad it made him. How he didn’t know how to fix it. How he couldn’t remember the last time he told you he was proud of you.”

“He—Harry. He didn’t say those things. That’s—that’s not my father. You have it wrong.” Louis shook his head in disbelief. “Did he tell you how upset he was that I studied art in college and not music production? How pissed he was when I left home and told him I’d never follow in his footsteps—how I broke his heart like he…” Louis was crying now, tears streaming down his face. “How he never loved me. Ignored me when mom died. When I needed him most. When I was…just a scared little kid. How he pushed me away?” Louis stood up, pacing in the arid sand. “Did he? Because he did. He didn’t love me. Couldn’t love me. Because if you love someone…really love them you just don’t do that when the most important person in their entire world dies. You just.” Harry stood up and wrapped Louis in his arms. Louis sobbed against his shoulder. “You just don’t do that. You don’t do that.”

Harry kissed Louis’ head and rubbed over his shoulders and back, shushing him and kissing his tears away. Louis let him take care of him because he was tired. So, so tired. He was tired of holding on to this hate, this fear and all of this sadness over a man he clearly didn’t know. He was so tired.

“Harry. I?” Louis looked up into Harry’s eyes and Harry looked down at him with kindness in his eyes, the type of kindness that made Louis feel safe, protected.

“I know. He’s sorry. So sorry. And I know he misses you. He…he wants to see you. Talk to you. Before it’s too late.” Harry wiped away a tear from under Louis’ eye.

“But why you? I mean, how?”

Harry looked away for a moment, scanning the horizon. When he looked back his eyes were clear. “Like I said. I fell for you. Before I ever met you. I guess your dad thought if anyone could get through to you it would be me. Because I—I could really love you Louis. I know it’s crazy and probably completely stalker-like—but…” Louis sniffed and laughed quietly. “But I do. I could.”

Louis pulled Harry closer, feeling the other man’s body pressed to his own, so familiar already, so much like home. “I could too. I do too.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

Of course it was cancer.

Louis knew it before Harry ever told him. He remembered his grandmother telling him once that if old age didn’t get you cancer would. And that’s what it was. First his mom and now his dad. His grandmother died peacefully in her sleep. Which is what Louis always wanted for her. But his dad…he just thought he was invincible. Nothing could kill Chase Tomlinson.

“So, have you, like…thought about what you’ll say?” Harry asked nervously from the passenger seat.

Louis shook his head and turned off the freeway. “I don’t know Harry. I haven’t had a real conversation with my dad in years.”

They’d been through this already. Several times. It had been another week of Louis tying up some loose ends and Harry helping him process his feelings, his thoughts about everything. At first he was angry, felt like his dad was using Harry to get through him. And then he was just sad. Sad that it had come to this after everything. And finally he was just anxious. He had this well of emotion that had to do with his father and he didn’t think he’d ever understand all of it, if any of it.

And Harry was just…there. He helped Louis finish boards and call customers and ship orders. He talked to him when he needed to and left him alone when all he wanted to do was brood and process. He got him drunk one night and they danced in Louis’ kitchen to Van Morrison while falling all over each other, kissing with messy, wet tongues and clumsy hands.

Then there was Niall. Niall, who of course, knew everything because Harry had broken down and told him after Louis shut him out the first time. Niall, who kicked Louis’ ass in the end and told him he needed to go see his father before it was too late, before he’d regret it. Louis smiled at the memory of Niall pressing a toasted cheese sandwich into his hand before they got on the road and pinching his ass with a vicious “go get em tiger” in his ear. He was a good friend. The best.

Harry squeezed Louis’ hand and Louis squeezed back. At least he wasn’t alone.

Pulling into his father’s drive felt a bit surreal. It had literally been a lifetime since he’d driven up to the Tomlinson house. Mansion, really. Back when it was just him and his grandmother, they’d always used the service entrance at the back of the house. Using the driveway felt formal, more like he was a guest, which is what he was after all. This was never home to him.

Harry put his hand on Louis’ knee before they got out of the car. “You ready for this?”

Louis considered it, looking at Harry’s kind eyes and the way his mouth was sent in a slight pout. He couldn’t fathom how he’d got so lucky to have found this beautiful generous boy, but he wasn’t about to question it. “Yeah. I think.”

They walked together up to the door and Louis watched as Harry rang the bell. Their shoulders brushed and Louis felt nervousness coiled in his stomach. Harry linked pinkies with him and Louis felt calm roll through his body. No matter what happened, at least something good would come of this. Harry.

A man that Louis didn’t know or recognize answered the door. “Mr. Tomlinson. Mr. Styles. Please come in.” He gestured into the large foyer, opening the door wider. The pair stepped inside, immediately surrounded by the scent of lilies and the cool dry air of Chase’s perfectly temperate 72 degree house. “Right this way,” the man who was apparently a servant of Chase’s said.

Everything was the same, but different. The house was still cold and impersonal, the small homey touches that Johannah had left behind completely gone now. Creams and golds decorated the sparse surfaces and furnishings and the entire place felt sterile. Louis had a memory of his grandmother comparing the house to a museum, and a bad one, at that. It definitely did not feel like someplace where you could put your feet up and let the cares of your day roll away. It was a place to entertain, to be seen, ogled and admired.

They entered what Louis knew to be Chase’s study, the walls lined with dark oak bookshelves and club chairs, a desk and computer. But once he walked in he realized that this room had changed, drastically. There was a hospital bed alongside the French doors that led to the hydrangea-lined patio, letting in ample sunlight. The bed was surrounded by medical equipment that seemed to breathe and move on its own accord, each piece humming and whirring to its own internal rhythm.

And there, in the middle of the almost too large bed, was Chase Tomlinson.

Louis had recalled the last time he saw his father at the gala many times in his mind over the past few weeks. And all he could remember was that his dad had seemed grayer, older, somehow. But not frail. Not sickly. But now, seeing him in the bed, practically dwarfed by the tubes and machines and monitors, he could see all that he missed. His father was thin, thinner than ever, and definitely less robust than he’d ever been in Louis’ life. It was almost like he was a caricature of the person he’d been before.

He was sleeping and as the servant left the room soundlessly, Louis felt uncertain as to what to do next. Harry grabbed his hand and pulled him forward gently. As they neared the bed Louis remembered approaching his father in bed once when he was little. He was only about seven, not too long after Johannah had died. He had had a nightmare and went to his father for comfort, something that his mother had easily doled out. He remembered shaking his dad awake, only to be turned away and told “go to bed—boys don’t cry.”

Shaking himself from the awful memory, Louis looked down at his father’s sleeping form. He looked so different in sleep, so fallow, void of all the things that usually made him so full of life, full of vigor. He realized with a start that his dad had some of the same qualities that Harry had. They both commanded attention. They both had something within them that made people want to be near them, be seen by them. But where Louis had always felt shunned by his father, he felt revered, almost idolized by Harry.

What a complete and total contrast.

“Louis?”

The small voice from the bed startled him. He looked at his father, his bright blue eyes so much like his own and felt a surge of emotion course through him. “I’m here. It’s me,” he whispered, fear clogging his throat like leaves in a storm drain.

“You came.” His dad’s words were simple, obvious, but loaded with meaning.

Louis walked closer, feeling the absence of Harry’s body as he stayed behind. “I did. I…” he heard his voice break, “I didn’t know…I…”

Chase fumbled for the side of the hospital bed, pressing a button that raised the back of the bed so he could see his son more clearly. “I didn’t want you to know. It’s ok, son. It’s ok.”

Louis didn’t realize it but he was crying. Tears fell freely from his eyes as he thought about all of the missed opportunities, lost time, the weight of it crushing him, pinning him to the spot. “Dad. I—“

Chase blinked and looked at his son, so similar to him physically but much, much more like his mother in all of the other ways that mattered. “I’m glad you came.” He inhaled deeply, ending the breath in a series of deep wracking coughs. A nurse scurried in the room and moved quietly around the bed. She offered him water, which he accepted, and adjusted one of the IVs at his bedside. After she left, Chase started to talk.

“Lou—I’m sorry for everything. I don’t know how to make it up to you. I’m afraid I really can’t,” he whispered, “But you need to know that I never meant to hurt you. I just didn’t know how to be the parent you needed me to be. And I…I’m just so, so sorry for everything.” His eyes grew watery as Louis sobbed quietly. The words were scratched at the edges like course sandpaper, Chase’s voice ravaged by the cancer that had started in his stomach and spread like wildfire throughout his entire body.

Louis edged closer. He felt caught in between the urge to run screaming and to fall to the ground, letting his grief consume him. “Dad…”

Chase put his hand out, blue veins protruding like 3-D tributaries on the blank canvas of his pale sickly skin. “Let me finish.” His hand landed on Louis’ own, the golden tan skin a marked contrast. “I lost her too.” His voice was haunted, shadowed with ghosts and demons of his own. “And I’m so, so sorry I couldn’t be what you needed. But…” More coughing. “If you’d let me, I want to know you now. Be something to you. If you’ll have me.”

Louis shifted from his left foot to his right, hot tears falling to his t-shirt and down his neck. Something let loose inside him, an avalanche of hurt and bitter pain and with one deep breath it was just… _gone_. Replaced by something like hope, promise and maybe even forgiveness. He turned his smaller palm in his dad’s frail hand and clasped it. “I’m not going anywhere dad. I’m here.”

****

“What is it with you and dressing rooms?” Louis panted, unbuttoning his pants as fast as his hands would go.

“Hm,” Harry hummed, helping Louis along by sliding his hands into the back of his jeans, palming his bum enthusiastically.

Louis’ skin burned everywhere Harry’s mouth, hands, breath touched it. Like something ethereal and born of stars and fate and the night sky, Louis knew Harry’s body belonged to him and that when they were together like this there was nothing else, nothing that mattered. Harry’s mouth was hot and insistent as he licked out over Louis’ collarbones. Louis knew from experience that Harry loved his collarbones. He especially liked to come over them, licking out the remnants from the hollows, murmuring how much he loved Louis, how beautiful he was.

“Bend over,” Harry growled, pushing his pants-less fiancé over the back of the couch.

Louis scowled, but secretly loved when Harry manhandled him like this, knew Harry knew it too. “What do you want to do to me?” He said breathlessly, once he was in position, hands far apart, legs wider.

“Gonna fuck you.” Harry said matter-of-factly, determined. Louis looked over his shoulder and saw that he was opening the lube with one hand, jacking himself slowly with the other, ogling his ass and biting his lip. He was obscene.

“Well come on then,” Louis teased, wriggling his bum around, feeling the firm flesh jiggle a little. Harry keened.

“Fuck, Lou. God. Can’t wait to get inside you.”

There was a sharp knock on the door. “Ten minutes Mr. Styles.”

Louis swung his hips from side to side. “Time’s a wastin’,” he mocked.

The lube fell to the floor and suddenly Harry was everywhere all at once. On top of him, inside him, trapping him underneath him.

“Fuck!” Louis shouted out, the sudden intrusion shocking and so, so good. Always so fucking good with Harry. So full. So hard. So perfect.

Harry stayed deep inside him, the way he always did…knew just how Louis liked it. He ground his hips in small circular movements, flexing exactly right so that Louis’ saw stars. Louis gripped the couch with white knuckles as Harry started in with the short, deep thrusts.

“God, babe. Love it…love you so much. God. Fuck,” Harry moaned. He was giving it to Louis hard and fast, time was of the essence after all, he had a show to do.

Louis smirked but then lost his train of thought when one of Harry’s hands slid around his cock and started sliding up and down and over the head in time to his thrusts. He felt heat building at the base of his spine and the tell-tale signs of his orgasm coiling up from his lower belly. A quick glance at the clock told him they had about four minutes until someone would be pounding at the door. He had to speed this up a little.

“Fuck. Harry. Love you baby. So, so much. Can’t—ah! Wait to—fuck! See you on s-stage…So fucking pretty…Ah!” Harry’s hips were getting more erratic, his hand flying over Louis’ cock now. Louis closed his eyes and held on for the ride. “So many people—fuck! Love you…but—it’s only me, isn’t it? Only—fuck. Me, babe. Who you fuck like this…fuck!”

Harry pounded into Louis mercilessly now, the slap of their skin loud in the room, even over the thunderous applause and screams from the stadium above them. Louis threw his head back, arched his spine and spilled over Harry’s hand with a shout. Harry followed, thrusting in deep and stilling, pulsing inside Louis’ body as he chanted Louis’ name the same way his adoring fans would be screaming his in just moments.

Harry’s hands covered Louis’ as the two of them struggled to catch their breath. He pulled out of Louis’ body with a slow, shaky moan. Louis felt hot and sweaty, but in the best way, with Harry’s front plastered to his back and come slowly leaking down his thigh. He leaned to the side and kissed the knuckles of one of Harry’s hands and murmured, “Gotta get ready, babe.”

Harry groaned behind him and stood up, sliding his wet dick up and down Louis’ crack. “Filthy,” Louis grumbled.

Harry slapped the meat of his ass and said, deep and throaty, “You love it.”

And he did. Louis loved every part of Harry.

Harry returned with a warm washcloth and wiped Louis down carefully, scooping his finger inside his open hole. “Ew,” Louis groused.

“Lick you out if I had time,” Harry lamented, tossing the cloth toward the corner with the towels from their earlier shower.

They dressed quickly, Louis a bit slower since he was still feeling the after effects of Harry’s fervor. The second knock came just as Harry was slipping on his gold boots. Louis shook his head fondly. Harry walked over to Louis and pulled him close by the hips, clasping his hands at the small of his back. Louis’ arms went up over his shoulders automatically.

“See you out there?”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Louis said with a wink.

“Make sure you are there for the first encore.” Harry’s eyebrows shot up as he searched Louis’ face.

“Why…?” Louis asked slowly, “What are you up to?”

Harry pressed a kiss to Louis’ temple before releasing him. “Nothing. Just make sure you’re there,” he said mysteriously over his shoulder. “Love you,” he called out as he left the small, still-smelling-of-sex room.

Louis squinted his eyes at the empty space left by Harry as he searched for his other gym shoes. Whatever Harry was up to was probably going to either embarrass him or make him cry. In front of people. He wasn’t particularly fond of either.

When Harry had proposed to Louis last year he did it on stage. At JingleBall. In front of thousands.

Louis’ red tear-streaked face was preserved for eternity in Tumblr posts and Twitter mentions.

Louis sighed and sat down, gingerly, on the couch. Harry. Where would he be without him?

In a way, Louis felt like his life really started when he met Harry. Harry had been with him through so much. Through finding himself, really. He was with him when he got to know his father, as an adult, as a peer. He was with him when he held Chase Tomlinson’s hand on a Tuesday morning as he took his last breath. He was with him when he saw to the details of Chase’s estate, giving the company to Anna, his assistant—who was more than capable of continuing Chase’s vision—and seeing to the charitable distribution of his assets. It was Harry who suggested they turn Chase’s home into a music school for kids. Louis was thrilled at the prospect and now The Chase Tomlinson School for Music was one of the most sought after music education and enrichment programs in southern California. Louis was so proud of it and was pleased when Niall had decided to join him in running it, taking over the scholarship division so that the school could cater to kids from all backgrounds and communities.

Harry had changed everything.

And Louis was so grateful for him.

Louis made his way up to the stadium floor, following security to the section reserved for crew and family. He could see Harry in profile greeting the crowd and yelling at them to “make some noise!” He smiled at Harry’s goofy legs and larger than life stage persona. There really was something about him. Something that no one else even came close to having.

Three years ago, Louis would have never imagined that he’d be here today, traveling the world next to his fiancé, running a music school and commissioning one-of-a-kind surf boards on the side. He’d have laughed in your face if you told him he’d be contemplating kids and minivan safety statistics or even thinking about the merits of adoption versus surrogacy. Yet here he was.

If you’d have told him that a pretty, green-eyed boy would walk up to him at a party and change his life, turn everything upside down and bring him back to the father he thought he’d lost long ago, he would have told you you were crazy. That they would fall in love and build something bigger than them and that music would not only change them, but change the world song by song, stadium by stadium, child by child. But that’s exactly what Harry did. What they did.

“Chicago!!!!” Harry bellowed, his deep voice resonating right through Louis’ very core. Like the rest of the fans in the stadium, Louis was rapt, caught up in Harry’s beauty, Harry’s presence.

“I have a very special treat for you tonight!” He called out to the sound of clapping and loud, near deafening cheers. “I wrote a new song and you are the first ones to hear it!”

The stadium went quiet as the lights went down and a stage hand brought out a stool for Harry to sit on. He was gorgeous, bathed in pale golden light, his sheer shirt unbuttoned as always, long lean legs draped over the simple seat. He pulled an acoustic guitar on to his lap and cleared his throat.

“So, you all know my fiancé?” Cheers broke out again. Harry waited for them to subside. “This is something I wrote for him. A little something to help him remember that no matter where we go or what we do, as long as we are together…we’re home.”

The crowd erupted again but quieted quickly as Harry started to strum his guitar. His deep mellow voice rang out clear and soft.

_Make a little conversation_

_So long I've been waiting_

_To let go of myself and feel alive_

Louis clapped a hand over his mouth. He remembered telling Harry, just a few months ago how his life with Harry felt like letting go of himself, like being alive for the first time in his life. He watched Harry sing, eyes closed, mouth moving in that angelic way of his and he felt tears spring into his eyes. How did he get so lucky?

_I was stumbling, looking in the dark_

_With an empty heart_

_But you say you feel the same_

_Could we ever be enough?_

_Baby we could be enough_

The words Louis heard were like a melody that he’d played in his own heart over and over again. They were familiar, personal. They were exactly what he’d always thought, felt, when it came to Harry. Harry turned to look at him as he sang, eyes shining bright in the dark cavernous room. It felt like, for a moment, it was just the two of them.

_And it's alright_

_Calling out for somebody to hold tonight_

_When you're lost, you'll find a way_

_I'll be your light_

_You'll never feel like you're alone_

_I'll make this feel like home_

Louis felt one lone tear slide down his cheek as he considered the words “you’ll never feel like you’re alone”. He never did anymore. For so long he felt alone, keeping himself hidden away in the dark. But now, with Harry, he felt as if he were in the light, happy and…home.

Harry kept singing. Kept playing his guitar. Louis could feel the crowd swaying around them, could see the lights from a thousand cell phones but to him, it was just him and Harry, just him and the light that had guided him here.

As Harry finished the song, and a stage hand led Louis to the stage, helping him climb the stairs in the dark, Louis heard:

_Baby we could be enough_

_It's alright_

_Calling out for somebody to hold tonight_

_When you're lost, you'll find a way_

_I'll be your light_

_You'll never feel like you're alone_

_I'll make this feel like home_

And, walking across the stage, into Harry’s waiting arms, Louis felt it. He finally felt what he’d been looking for his whole life. Like walking on water, walking across an ocean of doubt and grief, he finally walked to what he’d been chasing for what felt like forever.

He was home.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you liked it. Please leave a note and let me know what you thought!
> 
> Here's a rebloggable post: [walk on the ocean](http://a-writerwrites.tumblr.com/post/159082001425/a-writerwrites-walk-on-the-ocean-by)


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